


Lullaby

by Tokkida



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dean is depressed, Emma and Foxy are along for the ride, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Regal is a jerk, Roman is not amused, Seth is a little shit, Small instance of non-con(ish), Supernatural Elements, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-06-08 18:37:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6868795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokkida/pseuds/Tokkida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon Dr. Regal’s retirement, Roman Reigns, a doctor fresh out of med school, has taken over his practice and, most generously, his house.  Life is going splendidly until he begins seeing strange shadows, objects start going missing, and what’s with the oddly enchanting singing coming up from the basement?  Rolleigns at first but ultimately Ambreigns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> New fic! I haven't abandoned The Gift of Stars, but man, this plot has been rolling around in my head for the past few months. I hope this one doesn't disappoint!

“Miss Ella, do you have any news on Mr. Abernathy’s, erm, situation?”

“Oh, dear heavens, Paula!  That Marcus… hmph!  What shall we do with him?”

“Oh, have there been any unexpected turns of events?”

“Yes, unfortunately.  Well, unfortunately for him, at least.  Quite splendid for us.”

“Pray tell!”

“Well, it seems that Mr. Abernathy has since begun to court Ms. Stephens—”

“Ms. Stephens?  The preside—”

“Yes, the president of the gardening club, dear.  I don’t quite see what Lavender sees in him, honestly.  What with the club foot and all…”

“Oh my.  I wonder what _Mr_. Stephens thinks of this?”

“Gregory?  He hasn’t a clue!  Just the other evening, he and Lavender were having supper at that one little bistro over on Elm—”

“The Continental?”

“Yes, that’s the one!  Well, in the middle of their appetizer, guess who would happen to walk in?”

“No!”

“Yes, darling.  Mr. Abernathy himself.”

“Such a coincidence!  What transpired, pray tell?”

“Not much, disappointingly, but apparently Lavender had excused herself for a… breath of fresh air, if you catch my drift.”

“Oh, that Lavender.  Not quite the same after the loss of their vacation home.  A pity.”

“Truly a pity.”

“Oh!  Miss Ella, that reminds me.  Have you heard the newest development regarding Mrs. Wilson and the bakery competition?”

“Mrs. Wilson with the blue ribbon-winning pie?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“No, dear!  Please, indulge my curiosity.”

“Well, it so happens that Mrs. Wilson’s strawberry rhubarb pie was actually store-bought!”

“Store-bought?  I can’t believe that Gladys would stoop to such a level!”

“I agree!  What is this world coming to?  She could have at least made a better attempt at hiding the box it came in—”

“Oh, heavens.”

“Miss Cobb?”

A bright, accented voice suddenly spoke up, breaking the ongoing gossip.  Miss Ella Cobb, a regal woman of eighty-seven years, glanced up from her perch beside her friend, a warm smile gracing her elegant features.  “Ah, Emma!  Is the doctor ready to see me now?”  She turned toward her confidant, one Paula Evans, and placed her hand gently on the other woman’s arm.  “I apologize, dear, but it seems that I am being called away!  We _must_ have coffee tomorrow and finish our discussion.  Are you free?”

“I’ll have to check my appointment book, but I’m sure that I can squeeze in brunch.”

“Splendid!” Ella exclaimed, gingerly rising from her seat.  “Now, Emma,” she started, hobbling toward the newcomer, “I’m quite interested in this new fellow you have here.  You know that William has been my primary physician for years, so you’ll understand if I’m a bit hesitant at accepting care from a complete stranger.”

“Oh, Miss Cobb, Dr. Reigns is a wonderful physician.  Made top marks at university!  And please, if I didn’t trust him, then I would have left the office with Dr. Regal.  I know that William has made a perfect choice with Roman as his replacement.”

Ella nodded, her blue bouffant bobbing against her pudgy chin.  “Well, dear, if William believes him to be suitable, then I shall have no qualms about it.”

“Good,” the nurse grinned, crooking her elbow for the shorter lady to clutch.  “We have you in exam room number two.  Your usual, of course.”

“Bless your heart,” Miss Cobb chirped as Emma steered her out of the waiting room and down the narrow hallway, a small wave thrown over her shoulder toward Mrs. Evans as they made their retreat.  The duo took their time as Ella shuffled alongside the younger woman, her eighty-seven years catching up to her with each carefully placed step.  “Emma, pray tell.  What is your accent?  It’s quite… exotic!”

“Australian, Miss Cobb,” she replied with a knowing smile, “just like last time.”

They finally entered the room, and Emma helped the squat woman up and onto the exam table before grabbing her chart from the door.  “What seems to be ailing you today, Miss Cobb?” she asked, gingerly placing the blood pressure cuff around her patient’s chubby upper-arm.

“Miss Emma,” Ella began with a sigh, worry wrinkling at her brow, “I seem to have caught a dangerous and quite deadly disease.  I don’t believe I have much longer left on God’s green earth.”  The corners of her small mouth turned down in a troubled frown.

Emma quirked a brow in puzzlement, placing her fingers upon the woman’s wrist to check her pulse while she pumped up the cuff.  “And which is that?  Your heartrate seems to be fine.”

“Oh, dear.  It’s quite embarrassing, really.  A rather… filthy disease.  I don’t wish to startle you, love.”

“Miss Cobb, I’ve seen pressure ulcers as large as dinner plates.  I’m sure whatever you’ve caught is not going to phase me.”

The elderly woman clicked her tongue with a scowl.  “Now, dear, that isn’t how you should treat a dying woman!  Dr. Regal would be ashamed; I just know it.”

“My apologies,” the nurse replied as she removed the cuff and charted her patient’s vitals: a perfect one-twenty over eighty with a resting heartrate of 70, per usual.  “Please go on, though.  If you aren’t feeling well, then Dr. Reigns and I will do whatever we must to ensure your health.”

“Leprosy.”

Emma paused, pen set mid-scribble.  “Come again?”

Ella heaved a heavy sigh, twiddling with the hem of her tweed skirt.  “Leprosy, dear.  Oh, I can’t believe it!  I’m a clean woman, I tell you.  I bathe twice a day!  Oh, just put me in a colony.  Better yet, just take my life!”

“Miss Cobb!” Emma exclaimed, placing her clipboard on the counter and rushing toward her frazzled patient.  “I’m sure it isn’t leprosy.  There hasn’t been a documented case in Maine in years—”

“And I’m the first!” the elderly woman cried out, tears welling in the corners of her eyes.  “I’ve lived a good life, but if God must take me, then I am ready.  Pastor Michaels and I have spoken about this before, and I know that I must obey the almighty father’s wishes.”

The nurse was dumbfounded by her patient’s admission, mouth agape like a fish as she tried to find the words to reply.  “Miss Cobb,” she started slowly, reaching out to grasp the woman’s age-spotted hand, “I’m glad that you have found yourself ready and willing to serve, but I don’t believe that God is calling for you yet.  Now, where did you notice any bumps or lesions?”

Ella pulled the hem of her skirt up and over her thigh, pointing toward the prickled flesh.  “Right here, dear.  I noticed these bumps after my bath the other night.  They’re quite itchy, and my skin feels rather rough.  I’ve read of the disease and have heard tales from across the sea, so I just know that this is what’s going to take my life!”

Emma reached over and grabbed a pair of nitrile gloves from the counter and snapped them on before leaning down to examine the reddened expanse of skin.  She gently ran her hand over the bumpy flesh, a good idea of what her patient was ailing from forming in the back of her mind.  “Well, Miss Cobb,” she started after a few moments, rising and discarding the used gloves into the trashcan, “I believe Dr. Reigns should have a gander at this.”

“Oh, I knew it!  I’m dying!”

“Now, now.  Don’t fret.  I’ll go ahead and grab Dr. Reigns.  I have a wonderful feeling that he has the cure to your… leprosy.”

The elderly woman nodded and pulled her skirt back down to her knee, preserving a bit of modesty.  “Yes, please do, child.  I feel a bit faint, all of a sudden.”

Emma helped her patient to recline, propping a plastic-covered pillow up under her blue-tinted head.  “I’ll be right back, Miss Cobb.  Just rest for now.”  The nurse padded out of the room and gently closed the door behind her with a soft _click_.  “Dr. Reigns,” she called, heading toward the back office.  “I have _quite_ a doozy for you.”

A large, raven-haired man glanced up from his perch behind the lone desk as the nurse ambled in.  “Huh?  What’s the matter, Emma?”

“Well,” she started, twirling a strand of honeyed-blonde around her finger, “it seems that Miss Cobb has contracted leprosy.”

The doctor’s eyes grew wide, confusion practically sending his brows to meet his hairline.  “L-leprosy?  I- there hasn’t been a documented case in Maine in _years_.”

“That’s what I told her, but apparently Miss Cobb is quite ready to take her diagnosis with good faith.”

“You can’t be serious,” Roman replied, scratching at the scruff of his chin.

The nurse rolled her eyes, a small smile playing at her dark-lacquered lips.  “Oh, I’m quite serious.  See, Miss Cobb has a bit of a track-record here.”

“What do you mean?”

Emma leaned against the desk, her icy orbs positively sparkling with mischief.  “Well, Miss Ella Cobb is, how would you put it, a _hypochondriac_.”

“Ah,” the doctor sighed, closing the file he was working on and setting it aside.  “One of those.”

“Yeah,” the nurse nodded.  “See, since well before I began working under Dr. Regal, Miss Cobb has visited once every two weeks like clockwork, complaining of some debilitating, deadly disease.  It started off small, though.  First, she would complain of ankle swelling and claim that she had Lupus, then it morphed into scabies which was actually irritation caused by a new laundry detergent, and then it finally spiraled into the plague.”

“The Black?”

“The ‘blue’.”

Roman pursed his lips.  “And how did Dr. Regal, erm, _treat_ Miss Cobb’s symptoms?”

“Well, he’d usually just find something around the office or prescribe her a placebo.  It held her off for a while, but, as I said, she was in here two weeks later complaining of another strange illness.”

“How long have you worked in this office, again?”

“Ten years this December.”

Reigns reeled back.  “And Dr. Regal charged her for each visit?  Even though he knew that she wasn’t actually ill?”

The nurse shrugged and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.  “I didn’t feel right charging her for the visits, honestly, so I told Alicia to sort of… keep it under the table.”

The doctor nodded in understanding and rose from his seat, rounding the desk and heading toward exam room two with Emma in tow.  “So, what _is_ Miss Cobb’s actual malady?” he questioned, stopping outside of the marked door.

“Dry skin.  Probably due to the chilly weather since the seasons are changing.”

He nodded slowly and opened the door, ushering his coworker in before entering himself.  He took a deep breath, steeling himself for his first (and quite possibly most… interesting) patient.  “Hello, Miss Cobb.  I’m Roman Reigns, and I have taken over Dr. Regal’s practice,” he greeted, hand outstretched as he approached his patient.

Ella cracked her eyes open, chancing a peek at her new physician, before practically shooting up and off of the exam table in excitement.  “Oh!  It’s quite the pleasure to meet you, Dr. Reigns,” she giggled, inner-schoolgirl bubbling with glee.  She grasped the doctor’s large hand in her own, heart fluttering in delight.  She took in the physician’s appearance—the broad, tanned expanse of his form, the immaculately trimmed scruff at his jaw, the jet-black hair tied back in a sleek bun.  “Emma,” she started cheerfully, her looming “death” apparently forgotten in her enthusiasm, “you failed to mention that Dr. Reigns is quite… handsome.”

Emma shook her head with a quiet chuckle, throwing a knowing glance at her boss.  “My apologies, Miss Cobb.  I probably should have warned you, having been accustomed to Dr. Regal for all these years.”

The elderly woman shook her head, her bouffant lively bouncing to-and-fro.  “No worries, child.  Now, Dr. Reigns, how old did you say you were again?”

“Twenty-nine,” the doctor grinned, trying to pry his hand from the woman’s impressive grip.  “C-could you please let go of my hand?  I’d like to examine your… leprosy.”

“Please do!” she blurted, extracting her hand and speedily pulling her skirt up and over her thigh.  “And please, be _thorough_.”

Roman gulped and peered over at his coworker; Emma just grinned.  He quickly sheathed his hands in a pair of gloves before setting to examine his patient’s flesh himself.  “Hm, this _is_ quite a case you have here, Miss Cobb,” he murmured after a moment, palms gently running over the expanse of skin.  “I haven’t seen an outbreak this bad since I was in med school.”

“Oh, dear!” Ella gasped, covering her eyes in dismay.  “Please, Dr. Reigns, how much longer do I have on this darling planet?”

The doctor pulled the hem of her skirt back down and patted her thigh.  “Well, Miss Cobb, it looks as if you’ll be gracing us with your presence for quite some time still.”

“Oh?” she questioned, uncovering her eyes and gazing up into the doctor’s own steely grays.  “How, pray tell?”

 “Well,” he chuckled, turning to rummage in one of the cabinets above the counter before returning to his concerned patient.  A long tube was clutched in his hand. “I do believe I have the cure to your… ailment.”

Across the exam room, Emma rolled her eyes.

“This is a special topical ointment that Dr. Regal crafted himself,” he explained, passing the tube over.  “You must apply this ointment twice a day or else it won’t have much of an effect.”

Ella inquisitively peered down at the proffered medication.  “A-and you’re sure this will cure my leprosy?”

“I guarantee it, Miss Cobb,” he nodded.  “It may a few days to notice any changes, but I promise that your skin will clear right up as long as you follow my directions.”

“Oh, thank you, Dr. Reigns!” Miss Cobb cheered, nearly leaping off of the table and into the large man’s arms.

Roman caught the spirited woman and pulled her into a quick, friendly embrace.  “You’re welcome, Miss Cobb.  That’s what we’re here for,” he replied, gesturing toward the nurse where she hovered by the door.  “Isn’t that right, Emma?”

“Oh, yes,” the Aussie grinned, crooking her arm in offering of an escort.  “Come, Miss Cobb.  Let’s get you going, okay?”

The trio filtered out of the examination room, Miss Cobb excitedly babbling away about her new lease on life as Roman retreated toward his office.

“So, will we be seeing you again, Miss Cobb?” Alicia, the receptionist, spoke up from her desk as Emma and the elderly woman hobbled into the waiting room.

“You never know, dear,” Ella replied with a shrug.  “At eighty-seven, one doesn’t quite know what will happen!  Ah, bodies.  How strange they are.”

“Strange, indeed,” Alicia agreed, muffling her laughter with the sleeve of her sweater.

Emma saw the eccentric woman out and trekked back to Reigns’ office, playfully blowing a raspberry at the receptionist as she passed by.  “Dr. Reigns?” she called, stepping into her boss’ office.  “Alicia and I are going out for drinks after work this evening, and we were hoping that you’d join us.”

The doctor glanced up from the previously abandoned file he had been working on, tapping his pen against the desk in contemplation.  “Actually, I’ll have to take a rain-check, Emma,” he said, expression a silent apology.  “I still have a ton of unpacking to do.”

“Ah, I understand!” the nurse smiled.  “Incredibly generous of William to sell you his house, though.”

“Yeah,” Roman agreed, “Pretty nice of him to leave all of his furniture, too.  Wasn’t expecting that one at all.”

Emma shrugged.  “Dr. Regal’s always been a generous man.  He’d give you the shirt off of his back if you needed it, honestly.  Quite caring.  Couldn’t see him hurting a fly.”

“I could see that when I first met him.  Nice man.  Seems too young to be retiring, though.”

“Well, he’d practiced for decades before deciding to hang up his stethoscope, so to speak.  He was able to save up quite a pretty penny, and what with his son having left home for med school, I guess he decided that it was a good time to return focus on his wife.  What a dear, Mrs. Regal is.  Absolutely lovely woman.”

“I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her yet.”

“Ah, well, since they’re still living in town, I’m sure you’re bound to cross paths sooner or later.”

Roman nodded.  “I’m sorry I can’t make it out for drinks, but I promise to treat you girls to an evening out as soon as I get everything settled at home.”

“I’m holding you to that!” Emma smirked, turning to plod out of the office and retrieve their next patient.  She paused in the doorway, testing out the following words on her tongue.  “Dr. Reigns… Roman,” she started softly.

The man hmm’d in acknowledgement.

“I-if there’s something troubling you, please don’t hesitate to come to Alicia or me for help.”

Ro quirked a brow.  “Emma?”

The girl turned back and gradually approached her boss.  “It’s just, toward the end of Dr. Regal’s tenure, he seemed to be in an odd mood.  Very tense.  He’d snap at Alicia and me over something as simple as being low on tongue depressors.  It was pretty disconcerting because we couldn’t really gauge his state of mind at any time.  The patients started taking notice as well, but we all pretty much just chalked it up to issues outside of work.  He’d always apologize for his terse words, but he was rather aloof.  Just, not quite in the zone, so to speak.  Seemed like he always had something else on his mind.  I really want the three of us to get along.  Anyway, Alicia and I already adore you, and I’d rather you come to us if there are any problems.  We may not know each other very well quite yet, but we’re here if you ever need anything.”

The doctor mulled over her explanation.  When he had first met Dr. Regal, the man _had_ seemed quite distant, albeit incredibly genial.  Perhaps there _was_ more to William than he had initially let on.  Roman shook the wild hair of a thought from his mind and flashed an appreciative grin at the nurse.  “Thank you, Emma.  I hope that you and Alicia can feel the same.  If there’s ever anything, please don’t hesitate to come to me.  I-I’d really love for the three us of to have a strong relationship.  ‘Sides, it isn’t too fun working with someone you actually despise.  Been there, done that, and I _really_ don’t feel like going there again.”

“Deal,” she winked, reaching out to pat the man’s arm.  “Ah, I’d better go grab Mrs. Evans for her appointment.  She isn’t quite as bad as Ella, but she’s still a handful.”

Roman sighed, glancing down at his watch and internally shuddering at the time.

 _9:51 AM_.

It was going to be a _long_ day.


	2. Chapter 2

As the day progressed, the duo’s patients were thankfully less offbeat.  From Mr. Adams and his seasonal allergies to nine year-old Clara Lipscomb and her swollen tonsils, he and Emma speedily (yet efficiently) sent them on their way with smiles and prescription slips in-hand.  As the sun set on the horizon, the day had finally reached its end.  Alicia set to straightening up the waiting room, returning magazines to their rightful racks and dusting the shelves to a pristine shine.  Emma finished off her charting and locked up the filing cabinets before turning the computer off for the evening, a routine she had perfected after years of practice.  She reflected on her tenure as she locked the nurse’s office behind her with a soft _click._   Dr. Regal’s was a wonderful place to work, always full of smiles and cheerful banter, and she was more than delighted that Roman had seemed to carry on the feeling of amicability.  Although Dr. Reigns had only just moved to Westerly Falls a week or so prior, she and Alicia had already struck up a seemingly pleasant relationship with their new boss.  Although a bit dejected that he could not make it out for drinks that evening, she completely understood his postponement.  It was always a tough task to move into a new home, what with all of the unpacking, sorting, and organizing.

“Foxy, we still on for drinks?” she questioned, stepping into the waiting room.

The younger receptionist glanced over from where she was returning a barnyard playset to the toy cabinet, a plastic piggy clutched in one hand.  “Yeah, of course!  Is Dr. Reigns joining us?”

Emma shook her head and smoothed out the front of her scrub top.  “Nah, said he still has a bit of unpacking to do.  Promised to make it up to us, though.”

“Understandable,” Alicia replied, closing the cabinet and heading over to her desk to shut down her own computer.  “Nice of him to sell Roman his house.  Bit strange, though, don’t you think?”

The Aussie quirked a brow.  “Why do you say that?”

Alicia shrugged and pressed the power button on the monitor, the screen going black and reflecting her own perplexed expression.  “Well, just seems kinda odd, y’know.  Throwing his resignation at us last-minute, putting his house up for sale only a day later.  Seemed like he was dead-set on getting the hell out of Dodge.”

“Well, now that you put it out in the open.”

“Eh,” the receptionist started with a chuckle, “probably nothing, honestly.  Just a tad strange, but we’re talking about Dr. Regal here.  You wanna go tell Roman that we’re heading out?”

“Right behind you guys,” the doctor spoke up as he emerged from the hall, messenger bag of paperwork slung over his shoulder.

The trio exited the office, Alicia locking the door behind them.  They stood at the end of the path and exchanged pleasant goodbyes before going their separate ways, Foxy and Emma turning west to head toward the pub while Roman’s feet carried him in the opposite direction toward his own home.

As the man trekked the few, short blocks toward Maple Avenue, he took in the comforting environment.  Westerly Falls was a quaint, little township set back in the rolling hills of Maine.  Distanced only an hour-or-so from Bangor, the town was a quiet escape from busy city life.  With a population of only around three-hundred, everyone seemed to know one another.  The small stead created a concurring feeling of harmony, a wholesome vibe wherein one could most reasonably ask their neighbor for a cup of sugar without the bat of an eye or a snarled lip.  The changing seasons from summer to autumn brightened the hills, splashes of vibrant oranges, yellows, and reds an enchanting palette against the sunset.  The air was crisp and cool, each lungful seeming to breathe new life into his tired body.  Westerly Falls was most definitely a contrast from the golden beaches of Florida, but the man took the differences in with a new-found appreciation.  Sure, he missed his family, but with the genial atmosphere of the small town, he had felt right at home in no time.  He wondered what antics his cousins, Jimmy and Jey, would have been getting up to and which scrumptious meal his mother would be serving up that evening, his stomach beginning to growl in hunger.  He patted his gut, thankful that his house was finally coming into view.

Roman stopped just inside the gate and stared up at the towering bungalow.  It wasn’t the largest home in the township, but it was still a majestic structure.  Decades old, the house was enchanting in its classic design, with columns lining the front porch, large, open windows, and wide, immaculately manicured flower beds sprawled throughout the yard.  He was beyond grateful for Dr. Regal’s generosity, as it was hard-pressed to find a home on the market in the lively town; frankly, no one wanted to leave.  Who could blame them, though?  With the hustle and bustle of everyday life, it became increasingly difficult to find an area to start a family in that didn’t teem with ill intentions and an alarming crime rate.  Roman wasn’t very interested in children (or the opposite sex, for that matter), though, but that aside, he fell in love with the community as soon as he’d first stepped foot onto the cobblestone street his new home sat along.

The path leading up to the steps was lined with solar lights that began to flicker on as the sun steadily descended beneath the horizon, and his stomach let out another impatient growl of protest.  With a shake of his head, he latched the gate behind him and headed into the house, breathing in the scent of old wood and leather-bound books.  He shrugged off his satchel and set it beside the door before toeing off his loafers and padding into the kitchen.  Opening the fridge, he pondered over what to fix for supper.  Spaghetti Bolognese or pasta alfredo?  He’d developed a taste for Italian, what with his mother’s heritage, but he also fancied delicacies such as keke pua’a and suafa’i thanks to his father’s Samoan roots.  With a shrug, he grabbed the previous evening’s leftover container of chicken parmesan and threw it into the microwave, setting the timer to five minutes before trailing off to his bedroom to change out of his stuffy dress-attire. 

Along the way, he stopped by the thermostat, a shiver racking his form as he turned the dial to a more comfortable seventy degrees.  The worst part about owning a large home was most definitely the draft.  While removing his tie and hanging it up on its rack in the closet, he pondered the strange chill.  Every morning, he set the thermostat to seventy, but when he returned from the office or a day running errands, the gauge typically read around fifty.  The house _was_ quite old, though, so he’d chalked it up to aging wirework. 

Once changed into sweats and a hoodie, he returned to the kitchen, pleading with his grumbling stomach to wait just a few moments longer, when out of the corner of his eye, he caught a strange shadow playing on the far wall of the den.  He squinted, trying to make out the odd form, before, just as suddenly as he’d noticed it, it disappeared.

“Huh,” he remarked aloud, and with a shake of his head, resumed his trail into the kitchen to retrieve his dinner.

The microwave was counting down its final seconds, and he raced to the machine to stop it before the alarm sounded.  Even though he’d lived alone for quite a few years, it was a force of habit and somewhat of a solitary game he’d contrived out of boredom.  He pressed the “cancel” button just before the countdown reached one and turned to retrieve a plate and cutlery from the opposite side of the room. 

Amidst the clatter of dishes, he failed to hear the microwave restart.

Roman turned back to grab his dinner but stopped abruptly, chest seizing in fright as the timer on the microwave descended from the five-minute mark once again.

“What the hell?” he questioned to himself, socks slipping over the linoleum as he approached the humming machine.  He reached up and pressed the “cancel” button, but instead of bending to his demand, the microwave proceeded to count down.  Irritated, he mashed the button a few more times, but it still failed to comply.  With a huff of frustration, he reached around the box and unplugged it from the outlet.  The machine finally powered down, and he nodded in accomplishment.  “Guess it’s time to get a new microwave.”

He reached out to open the door, but as soon as his hand touched the hard plastic, the microwave powered on, re-resuming its countdown.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, quickly pulling his hand back as if he’d been singed.  Peering through the window, the container of parm continued its slow, seemingly mocking rotation.  A quiet, almost indiscernible laugh began to echo throughout the kitchen, sending the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing straight-up.  He instantly whipped his head around, eyes widened in panic.  His throat ran dry, heart beginning to race as the laughter continued to grow louder.  “H-hello?” he croaked, a tremor in his usually steady voice.  “Who’s there?”

The bizarre raucous held strong for the next several moments until finally, the microwave beeped its alert.  Roman’s hand flew up, clutching at his pounding chest.  His breaths were shallow and labored, pulse fluttering as he tried to find an explanation for the incredibly jarring happenings.  The sudden ring of his landline almost startled the man into another mini-heart attack, and he heaved a sigh as the caller ID read his parents’ own number from back in Florida.  He grabbed the receiver in a tremoring grip, pressing the answer button and bringing the device up to his ear.

“ _Talofa, tīna_ ,” he greeted shakily, running a hand back through his inky locks as he tried to catch his breath.

“Hello, darling!  Are you okay?  You sound out of breath.  Is something the matter?” his mother instantly replied, confusion tracing her sweet voice.  “Roman?  Dear?”

He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Yeah, mom.  I’m fine.  J-just got back from running.”

“Ah, understandable!  So, how’s your first week going?  Any interesting cases?  Are your coworkers friendly?  How are you enjoying Maine?”

“ _Maaa_ ,” he whined, eyeing the microwave when his stomach let out another impatient growl.  _Let’s try this again_.  Cradling the receiver in the crook between his neck and shoulder, he quickly opened the door, mentally fist-pumping when the machine didn’t spontaneously combust.  He dumped the piping hot parm out onto his plate and tossed the dirty Tupperware into the sink to wash later before padding into the living room to plop down on the sofa and tuck in.  “What’s with the twenty questions?”

“Don’t blame me for being interested in my own son’s life!” Patricia exclaimed, mock-hurt in her voice.  “And to think, I _gave_ you that life—”

“Ah, fine, fine.  Sorry.  Things are going well.  My coworkers are pretty great.  Emma’s a bit of a smartass, but she’s a good girl.  Foxy, er, Alicia is also wonderful.  Hilarious, honestly.”

“Oooh,” his mother started, “Emma and Foxy?  Do you know if they’re married?”

Roman rolled his eyes and took a bite of pasta.  “Ma, what does that even matter?” he replied around his forkful.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she lightly scolded.  “It _could_ matter!  Your clock is ticking down, and I want a grandchild.  Maybe a little Todd or Dorothy to spoil?”

He choked on his noodles and coughed out an exasperated laugh.  “Shit, ma.  Did you go on one of those baby name websites and pick out the whitest ones you could find?”

“I’m gonna pretend that you didn’t just insult my future grandbabies.  Now, as I asked, Emma and Foxy…?”

“Not married that I know of.  Emma’s got a boyfriend, but I haven’t met him yet.  Not sure about Alicia, but, uh, she isn’t really my type.  Actually, neither of them are.”

His mother clicked her tongue disappointingly.  “You can’t be so choosy, Roman.  You aren’t getting any younger, y’know.  I tried to set you up with so many wonderful girls back here, but you always found something wrong with them.  Too short, too tall, not ambitious enough, teeth too big—”

“Ugh, please stop reminding me,” he grumbled, methodically chewing a bite of chicken.  “What about Rosey?  You ain’t happy enough with Jayden and Marah?”

Patricia huffed.  “Don’t make this about your brother, Roman.  All your father and I want is for you to be happy… and maybe settle down with a nice girl and start a family for yourself.  Isn’t that right, Sika?”

He heard his father’s disinterested “whatever” in the background and chuckled to himself.

“It’s not ‘whatever’, Sika!” Pat exclaimed, a muffled smack ringing through the receiver.  “Now, please talk some sense into your son.”

Roman rolled his eyes at the distinct sound of the receiver being shuffled between his parents before his father came across the line.

“Son,” Sika began, voice rough but full of love, “I think what your mother is trying to say is that we just want you to be happy.  You’ve worked your ass off to get your degree, and now it’s time to relax and start a life for yourself.  So, go out, treat your patients with a caring hand, and make a good name for yourself, alright?”

“Thanks, dad,” Ro smiled, “I love you guys.”

“We love you too, Roman.  We’re proud of you.  Want me to give the phone back to your mom?”

Roman cringed, the beginnings of a headache itching at the back of his skull.  “Not really, if it isn’t a problem.  Think I’m gonna hit the sack.”

His father laughed.  “I understand, son.  Have a good night, okay?”

“Thanks, dad.  You too.”

Finger poised over the “end call” button, he heard his father begin to speak again, a bit muffled as if shrouded by a hand.

“Roman?”

“Yeah, dad?”

“I’m sorry that your mother keeps pushing you to get married and have children of your own, but you know how she is.  That’s how she was when your brother got old enough.”

“Yeah, I know—”

“And hey, I’m sure you’ll meet that special someone someday.  No need to rush on love, right?”

“Haha, right—”

“Girl, _guy_ —” Roman’s breath hitched.  “—we just want you to be happy, okay?” 

He could hear the smile in his father’s voice, and it helped to assuage his tangled feelings.

“Okay, dad,” he nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smile of his own.  “I love you guys.”

“We love you too.  Goodnight, Roman.”

“Goodnight, dad.”

 After ending the call, he finished off his dinner and gave his belly a pat.  “That better?” he asked, glancing down at his once-rumbling stomach.  “Jesus, I’m sad.  Talking to my damn stomach for company.”  He gazed around at his surroundings—the high ceilings, the barren walls, the piles of marked cardboard boxes yet waiting to be unpacked.  “One thing at a time,” he murmured, rising and padding into the kitchen to discard his empty plate into the sink.  He considered washing the dishes but decided against it, the faint beginnings of his headache rapidly progressing into a full-on thump.  He threw a suspicious glance toward the unruly microwave.  “Don’t catch on fire while I’m asleep, a’ight?  I don’t fully own this place yet.”

As Roman made the trek toward his bedroom, a slight, shiver-inducing chill ran up his spine.  Pausing at the thermostat, he pursed his lips and let out a groan of utter frustration; the dial once again read fifty degrees.  “I am _not_ playing this game come winter.  Gotta remember to call the electrician in the morning,” he grumbled, returning the temperature to a temperate seventy before resuming his way to the master bath.

After finishing his “business,” popping a few pain-relievers, and brushing his teeth, he stood in front of the mirror scanning over his features with a frown.  Roman was far from vain but, just as anyone else, was prone to odd bouts of criticizing inspections.  His silvery orbs trailed his reflection, from the crinkled laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, to the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose, to the scar running along his jawline, half-hidden beneath the well-kept scruff.  With a wistful sigh, he grabbed his bottle of face wash and set to scrubbing off the day’s dirt and grime.  He splashed some warm water from the sink basin over his face to erase the suds and grabbed a towel from the rack beside him, patting his skin to a smooth, squeaky clean, but as he lowered it to return to its holding place, his heart skipped a beat: behind him, and reflected perfectly in the mirror, stood a man.

The figure was quite rough-looking, with unruly, auburn curls, scruff lining his jaw, and a set of broad shoulders leading down to an unbelievably slim waist which was half-obscured by his ratty t-shirt and worn, leather jacket.  The man’s mouth was a thin line, his nose button-like, his neck thick with chorded muscle and the disturbing, purpled marring of an angry bruise.  The most striking feature, though, were the man’s piercing, sapphire eyes; they seemed to harbor a flurry of emotions, from fury to sadness, but perhaps most riveting was the sense of utter despair that seemed to emanate from the gem-like depths.

“How did you get in here?” Roman questioned slowly, an intimidating edge in his voice.  When the man didn’t reply, he asked his question again to yet another blank stare.  “Wh-who are you?  What do you want from me?  Do you want money?  I’ll give it to you, no problem.  I mean, I probably should be calling the cops on your ass, but I’d rather just send you on your way.  And maybe change the locks…”  While he spoke, eyes never leaving the stranger’s own unnerving stare, his hand slowly slid over the countertop until his fingers wrapped around the base of his hairbrush.  It was in that moment that he’d wished he’d kept a knife on him.

When the man _still_ made no move to reply, Roman whipped around to face the intruder but stopped short, his stomach dropping like an anchor as the brush flew through the air to clatter against the bedroom floor. 

He was alone.

“Fuck,” he gasped, heart pounding in his chest.  Gathering his wits about him, he ran through the house, checking each door and window twice-over.  “How could anyone get in?” he panted as he rushed from room to room.  “Everything’s locked!”

The trail he took throughout the bungalow led him back to his bedroom where he stood statue-like for the next several minutes, not daring to make even the slightest noise.  The house was dead-silent, save for the usual creaks and groans as the aged wood warped and settled.  He finally let out the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in and shook the fog from his brain.

“It’s just stress,” he whispered to himself, rubbing his fingers over his pounding temple.  “A good night’s sleep will do me well.  Yeah, that… that must be it.”

Rounding the bed, he pulled back the heavy duvet and slipped in, letting out a groan of satisfaction as the mattress seemed to mold to his form.  Head nestled in the downy pillows, he finally closed his eyes and let himself succumb to sweet sleep as he began to draw in deep, easy breaths.  The day’s events cycled through his mind like a grainy film reel, and he smiled to himself.  He was grateful for Dr. Regal’s generosity, the girls’ acceptance of his leadership, and his parents’ support.  Perhaps, even though he was somewhat homesick for the warm beaches and salty breezes of Pensacola, he had made the right choice moving to Westerly Falls.

As sleep overtook him and embraced him in her ebony arms, the last thing her heard was the near-silent timbre of a rich, gravelly baritone wafting up through the floorboards.

_O Death, where is thy sting?_

_O Grave, where is they victory?_

“Is that Johnny Cash?” he mumbled, the hauntingly gorgeous melody settling over his mind like a soothing balm.

_O Life, you are a shining path_

_And hope springs eternal, just over the rise_

_When I see my redeemer beckoning me_

He could half-make out the warm humming that filled the void where the instrumentals would’ve been before finally slipping into unconsciousness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the comments and kudos! This story has been fun to write so far, so I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

The first rays of the morning sun crept in through the window-blinds, sending slices of golden light across the bed, while the birds nested outside chirped their melodic greetings of a new day.  Roman stirred, lashes fluttering as he regained consciousness.  He slowly blinked away the fog of sleep, squinting against the harsh sunlight.  Glancing over at the clock on the nightstand, he blearily made out the time: _6:31 AM_.  Thanking his inner-alarm, he gingerly rose into a sitting position and pushed the hair that had escaped his bun over the night out of his face.  With a jaw-popping yawn, he tossed the thick duvet aside; he instantly regretted the action, though, as the usual, numbing chill soaked through his sweats and caused a shiver to wrack his spine.

“Fucking old-ass house,” he grumbled, teeth chattering as his socked feet hit the cold floor.  “Damn place is gonna give me hypothermia—”

The sudden clatter of pots and pans caused him to cut off his irritated rumblings, eyes widening in surprise.  Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and rose, gradually inching his way to the open door.  His foot hit a stray object along the way, and he looked down, gut twisting at the sight of the abandoned hair brush.  The previous evening’s events rushed back to him in a flood of anxiety, the mysterious stranger from the mirror’s reflection a striking image at the forefront of his mind. 

The man with the devastatingly sad, oceanic eyes.

With a heavy gulp, he stepped over the brush and peered around the doorframe.  It was a silly sight, honestly.  One would think that with Roman’s intimidating height and build, he would be much more threatening than any intruder, but deep down inside, the man was actually quite skittish. 

“Okay,” he whispered to himself, trying to find the courage to leave his room, “I can do this.  I-it’s probably nothing, anyway.  Maybe the pot rack fell?  Y-yeah, it’s pretty old, so that makes sense.  Old wood, old screws.  That must be it.  Alright, let’s go check it out.”

Glancing over his shoulder and taking a deep breath, he plunged into the hallway, footfalls heavy in his haste.  Passing by the den, he peeked in out of curiosity, noting the lock still securely bolted on the front door.  As he approached the kitchen, his steps slowed, and he slinked along the corridor like a tabby stalking its prey.  Fingers clenched around the doorframe, he peered into the kitchen, a flash of panic crossing his senses like a bolt of lightning.  A man stood in front of the sink, arms deep in sudsy water and an apron tied snugly around his waist.

“W-well,” Roman stuttered, taken aback, “if it’s an intruder, he’s a polite one.”

The stranger’s ears perked up, and he turned around at the sound of the muted mumbling, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“D-Dr. Regal?”

The good doctor’s eyes flashed in alarm as he dropped the plate he had been scrubbing back into the sink, the impact sending a spray of suds up and across the front of his apron.  “Oh, Mr. Reigns!” he gasped, hand coming up to clutch at his heart.  “You gave me a fright!”

Roman sagged against the doorframe, trying to will his frantic heartrate to slow.  “The same could be said for you, sir.”  He sucked in a shaky breath.  “Wh-what are you doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Regal wiped his damp palms off on the driest part of the apron and carded a shaky hand through his wavy hair, his frightened expression settling into a warm, apologetic smile.  “Ah, I probably should have phoned, but I came to retrieve something I had accidentally left behind in the move.  You understand how it is with the frenzy of packing and relocating, I hope?”

“Sure,” Ro replied, brows knitted in confusion.  “But, uh, why are you doing my dishes?  Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture.”

The Englishman chuckled good-naturedly and gestured toward the stoppered sink.  “I saw that you had neglected to wash up, so I figured I would help out with what I could while I was here.  Perhaps I was a bit too… enthusiastic, though.  I apologize for waking you, Roman.”

Roman shook his head.  “N-no, it’s perfectly fine, Dr. Regal.  Just scared me a bit, honestly.”  He paused for a moment, testing out the words on his tongue.  “Uh, speaking of… when you lived here, did anything out of the ordinary happen to you?”

Regal glanced up from where he had turned back to resume his task, eyes narrowed and biting at the inside of his cheek in contemplation.  “What do you mean, lad?”

“Uh, it’s nothing, really,” the raven replied sheepishly, shrugging his broad shoulders. “My microwave started acting up last night, but uh, it’s probably just because it’s pretty old.  I’ve had it since my dorm-room days, so something was bound to crap out on it, right?”

“Right,” Regal nodded slowly, relief flashing across his stony features, “they just don’t make appliances like they used to.”

“That’s true.  Still strange that it kept going even after I unplugged—”

“Why don’t you go tidy up, and I’ll make us a proper breakfast?” William interrupted, the corners of mouth turning up into a tight-lipped grin.  “As an apology for the intrusion.”

The Samoan blinked, cocking his head to the side at the doctor’s odd offer.  “I, uh, I guess that would be fine.  Are you sure, though?  I can just grab some coffee before I head to the office—”

“I insist,” Regal waved the man off, finally setting the dish on the drying rack next to the sink with a clatter.  “You do keep the same office hours as I did, correct?”

“Yeah.  Figured I would so we wouldn’t confuse the regulars.”

“Good man.  Now, go wash up, and I’ll fry-up some breakfast for us.  Are you particularly fond of sausages?”

Roman chuckled, the uneasy feeling in his stomach turning to a dull pang of hunger.  “I’ll eat anything, as long as I ain’t cooking it.”

Regal let out a hearty laugh of his own.  “Good.  Now, go on and shower, and when you return, I should be finished.  Can’t let you go without proper sustenance.”

Roman opened his mouth as if to reply but quickly decided against it.  There wasn’t really any use in arguing with the good doctor, and he _was_ feeling particularly peckish.  With a final nod, he turned and padded off toward the master bath, a shower sounding like an absolutely delightful escape from the numbingly-chilly house.  _I’ve gotta call the electrician_.

In his absence, he completely missed Regal’s crystal orbs shifting their angry gaze toward the basement door.

* * *

When Roman emerged from the shower in a cloud of steam, he was instantly greeted by the tantalizing aroma of Regal’s skill.  Stomach growling in hunger, he hurriedly toweled-off his body and combed out his soggy locks, pulling the ebony tresses up into his signature, sleek bun.  He quickly changed into a pair of chinos and a paisley-printed button-down and stuffed a set of trouser-socks into one of his pockets before practically racing off toward the kitchen, the delectable smell of an English breakfast seeming to drag him away.  When he arrived, he was absolutely taken aback by the plethora of dishes before him.  Plates heaping with sausages, bacon, scrambled eggs, a pitcher of orange juice, a jug of milk, and other various delicacies were spread out over the center island, their mouth-watering aromas causing Roman’s stomach to let out another impatient growl.

Regal glanced up from his place beside the toaster as he waited for the bread to pop up.  “Go ahead and tuck in,” he smiled, gesturing toward the mountains of food, “there’s plenty if you’re feeling especially peckish this morning.”

With an appreciative nod, Ro grabbed a clean plate and began to fill it up, amazed by the short amount of time it took for the other doctor to prepare the extravagant meal.  “This is incredible!” he remarked, taking a bite out of a crisp piece of bacon.  “You did all this while I was in the shower?”

“Mhmm,” William nodded, immediately grabbing the toast and buttering it up as it finally popped out.  “With years of experience, it comes quite easily.  One needs sustenance when they have a long day’s work ahead of them.”  He placed a couple slices of toast on Roman’s plate before dragging one of the other barstools around to the other side of the island and hopping up.  “C’mon, then.  Take as much as you’d like.”

The men loaded their plates with a variety of foodstuffs and soon tucked in, the only sounds filling the kitchen for the next few minutes or so the clanking of silverware and the appreciative hums of satisfied diners.

“So,” Regal started, wiping his fingertips on the napkin in his lap before taking a sip of his orange juice, “how are you taking to Maine?  You said that you’re originally from Pensacola, correct?  Must be quite the difference.”

Roman nodded, methodically chewing a morsel of egg.  “I think I like it here,” he replied, swallowing his bite.  “It _is_ different from back home, but I’m really enjoying the atmosphere.  Back in Florida, everyone’s so busy.  Just running around like they’re trying to catch the sun before it sets.  But here, it’s a much slower pace.  Like, everyone knows that even though the sun sets in the evening, it’ll be back the next day.  They don’t seem to take anything for granted.  And hell, everyone’s a whole lot nicer here than back home.”

Regal chuckled at Roman’s statement.  “Ah, I quite understand the sentiment.  It seems that everyone knows each other here in Westerly.  ‘Never met a stranger,’ or so the saying goes.”  He took another sip before continuing.  “And how are things at the office?  Are Emma and Alicia giving you any trouble?”

“Nah,” the raven shook his head, “they’re great, actually.  Emma really knows her stuff, and Alicia keeps a tight schedule.  We’re trying to keep everything pretty much the same as when you were still practicing.  Don’t want to confuse any of the patients.”  He scooped up another forkful of egg and set it to his lips.  “Speaking of confusing, what’s the deal with, uh, Miss Cobb?”

William paused mid-sip, an odd glint in his eyes.  “Miss Cobb?”

“Yeah,” Roman replied, placing his fork back on the plate, “Ella, I think her name is.  Emma said that she’s been coming to the office for years claiming that she has some off-the-wall disease.  Just yesterday, she came in declaring that she was dying of leprosy.”

“Leprosy?  But there hasn’t been a documented case in Maine for _years_.”

“That’s what I said.  Anyway, it was just dry skin, so I gave her a tube of lotion I found in the cabinet in the exam room.  But I’m kinda concerned about her.  I mean, especially if she’s been coming in for years.  Did, uh, did anything strike you as odd about her when she was your patient?”

Regal placed his glass back on the table, shaking his head.  “No, honestly.  Miss Ella has a… troubled past, to put it lightly,” he explained, the corners of his mouth twitching down into a somber frown, “She’s a widow.  Her husband passed, oh, probably fifteen years ago or so.  Pneumonia.  Wish he would have visited the office sooner.  Anyway, when Miss Cobb was a child, her family was quite impoverished.  Her mother worked in a garment factory—sweatshop conditions, really—while her father careered in the Navy.  Since both of her parents were preoccupied with serving the country and keeping the household afloat—remember, this was during the Great Depression—she was forced to keep care of her elderly grandmother.  What with having all of her time taken by schoolwork and caring for Grandmother Cobb, she didn’t have many friends.  Psychologists believe that those who are hypochondriacs may do so out of the need for attention.  I do not know if she made outlandish claims before her husband passed, but ever since I had the pleasure of meeting her, it’s been somewhat of a routine for her to stop-in every two weeks with a new, debilitating disease.”

Roman nodded, a frown of his own setting his sympathetic expression.  “That’s terrible,” he murmured, gazing down at his cooling plate.  He had suddenly lost his appetite.  “Does she have any family around here?”

William shook his head, his blond waves bouncing side-to-side.  “Sadly, no.  She and Ralph—her late husband—have a daughter, but she lives down in Albany.  Carol _does_ come to visit around the holidays, but what with the goings-on of her own children and grandchildren, she’s usually quite busy.”

The pair sat in thoughtful silence for the next several moments until Regal interrupted with a soft throat-clearing.  “However, Miss Cobb is doing quite wonderfully on her own.  She and Mrs. Evans are the founding members of the local book-club, so that takes up much of her time when she isn’t gossiping or gallivanting around town.”  He slid off of his stool and began to gather the dishes, gesturing toward Roman’s since-untouched plate.  “May I?”

The larger man nodded and rose to help his friend clear the island.  They chatted nonsensically about the weather and the local football team’s upcoming season while they tidied-up, Roman interjecting with his own thoughts on the team’s chances since he had played all throughout high school.

“You were quite the footballer, then?” Regal chuckled, unstoppering the drain and rinsing the remaining suds from the sink as Roman finished drying off the freshly-cleaned dishes.

“Eh, I guess so,” the Samoan shrugged, placing the last plate in the cupboard.  “Well, my parents think so, at least.  I was offered a scholarship to play at Georgia Tech, but when I was accepted into the University of Florida, I knew that it was my one shot at becoming a doctor.”

“Oh?” the older man questioned, eyebrow raised, “Why, if you don’t mind my asking, did you decide to enter the medical field?”

Roman pursed his lips and leaned back against the counter, wringing the damp kitchen-towel in his hands in thought.  “Well,” he started, “I’m not really sure, to be honest.  I guess I’ve just always liked helping people, and ever since I can remember, I’ve been interested in the medical field.  I remember staying up late and watching that show _ER_ with my mom when I was a kid.  From then, I started watching stuff like _House_ and other ‘real stories’ shows.  Honestly, I didn’t even watch it for the drama or anything like that.  I just liked trying to solve the cases.  It’s kinda dumb, but really, I just like helping people.”

Regal laughed and clapped the other man on the shoulder.  “You’re a good man, Roman,” he stated, icy blues shining with sincerity.  “I’m honored that you’re the one who is carrying on my practice.  Just, please, stay true to yourself and keep humble.”

“Thanks, Dr. Regal,” Ro nodded, a bright smile gracing his features.  “The honor is all mine.”

“Well, lad,” William began, glancing down at his watch, “it looks to be about time for you to go.  Don’t want to keep the girls waiting.”

Roman glanced down at his own, noting that it was almost fifteen ‘til nine.  Where had the time gone?  Excusing himself from the kitchen, he plodded into the living room (first stopping by the thermostat to dial the temperature back up to seventy—a moot point, really, given that it seemed to have a mind of its own) and slipped into his socks and loafers before shouldering his messenger bag, the mound of paperwork inside a comforting weight.  Regal met him at the door, and they exited the house, making sure to lock up behind them.

“Ugh, really?” Ro grumbled, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.  “It’s warmer out here than it is in the damn house.  I’ve gotta call the electrician as soon as I get to the office…”

“The electrician?” Regal questioned, befuddled.  “Is something the matter?”

“Huh?  Oh, sorry.  Yeah, it’s just the thermostat.  More annoying than anything.  I usually set it to seventy, but when I get back home or wake up in the morning, it’s always set twenty degrees cooler.  I was thinking that maybe the wirework was going bad?  It’s a pretty old house after all.”

Regal made a quiet noise of consternation.  “That’s quite odd, especially considering that I had all of the wirework checked and replaced just a few days before you moved in.”

Roman paled.

* * *

 “Ah, look what the cat dragged in!” Alicia exclaimed from her perch behind the receptionist desk as Roman finally meandered in (with ten minutes to spare, no less).

The doctor rolled his eyes and good-naturedly stuck his tongue out at the girl before traipsing back to his office, Emma at his heels.

“Dr. Reigns,” the Aussie started, “we’ve got a pretty full schedule today, but I have a proposition for you.  Well, Alicia and I do, that is.”

Roman sat his bag on the desk and opened the flap, pulling the folders of paperwork out and setting them aside.  “And what would that be?” he questioned, eyebrow cocked in curiosity as he grabbed his lab-coat and stethoscope from the coat rack in the corner.

“Well,” Emma started sheepishly, playing with the hem of her floral-printed scrub top, “since you couldn’t join Foxy and me for drinks last night, we were wondering if perhaps you’d like to join us for lunch today?  I understand if you’d rather stay here to catch up on paperwork—must be incredibly busy, what with this being your first week on the job—but we were planning on checking out that new place that opened just a block over.  Café Phoenix, I think it’s called.  It’s been open for a few months now, but we haven’t really had the time to try it out yet.  I totally understand if not, though!”

Honestly, Roman _had_ planned on finishing up some paperwork on his lunch hour, but at the sight of Emma’s expectant doe eyes, he submitted.  What was an hour’s worth of extra work in comparison to new, budding friendships?

“Sure, I’d love to,” he replied with a warm smile, shrugging on his lab-coat and draping the stethoscope around his neck.  “So, Café Phoenix?”

“Yeah!” Emma exclaimed, falling into step beside the doctor as they made their way to greet their first patient of the day.  “Some of our patients have been there and have had nothing but good things to say about it.  Apparently, the head chef and owner studied at Le Cordon Bleu out in Chicago.  Someone said that he was the executive chef for a few, ritzy hotels out that way as well.  Can’t believe that a chef of his caliber ended up here of all places, but I’m not gonna complain... as long as he makes a decent fish and chips, at least.”

Roman hmm’d in response and plucked the chart from beside the door to exam room one.  He flipped through the pages, brows raised in bewilderment.  “Uh, Emma?”

The nurse glanced up at the taller man.  “Yes, Dr. Reigns?”

“Mr. Abernathy…”

“Yes?”

“His, uh, his penis is _broken?_ ”

 


	4. Chapter 4

The morning passed by in a flash as patients came and went, complaints of sprained ankles and migraine headaches sent merrily on their way with ice packs and absence-excuses.  Thankfully, Mr. Abernathy’s manhood _wasn’t_ broken (just a bit banged-up from a quick escape as a certain _Mr._ Stephens had arrived home from work earlier than expected), although Roman and Emma’s consoling did nothing for the man’s bruised dignity when he was asked to drop his drawers.

Finally, lunch had arrived, and the trio locked up the office and headed out into the crisp, autumn afternoon, the “Back in one hour!” sign placed front-and-center in the entrance’s window.

“What a gorgeous day!” Alicia remarked, boots clomping through the fallen leaves as they trekked the block toward the café.  “This place is so wonderful in the fall.  I can’t wait until they start bringing out the pumpkin spice lattes!”

“Or the pumpkin spice soap, or the pumpkin spice air freshener, or the pumpkin spice cough syrup…” Emma teased, glancing up from her cell phone where she was scrolling through her Instagram feed.  She stopped her friends in their gait and held the phone up in front of them, ushering the two to crowd in on either side of her.  “Selfie!”  She snapped the photo and giggled, noticing (besides Foxy’s go-to scrunchy face) the bunny ears Roman had thrown up behind her own head.  She quickly threw a filter on the picture, hash-tagged it “ **#worklife #lunchdate #bestfriends** ,” and hit the post button.

“So,” Roman started, trying to find an easy topic of conversation, “how’d you guys end up here in Westerly?”

Alicia was the first to respond, as Emma was still engrossed in scrolling through her feed.  “I grew up here, actually,” she replied nonchalantly, stepping on an especially crunchy leaf.  “My parents are originally from Bangor, but they moved here before I was born.  Dad took the job as the editor for the newspaper, and my mom found work as a florist over at that little shop over on Main.  After I graduated, we ended up moving back to Bangor, and I went to Beal College to get my degree as a Medical Administrative Specialist.  I wasn’t really interested in being a doctor or nurse or anything, but I’ve always liked doing office work.  Weird, right?”

Ro shook his head.  “Nah, that’s interesting!  I’m glad you found something that you enjoy doing.”  He glanced over at the other woman.  “How about you, Emma?  Did you grow up here as well?”

The nurse shook her head, pocketing her phone.  “Nope!  I mean, if the accent didn’t give me away, I’m originally from Australia—Melbourne, actually.  Like Foxy, my dad took a job offer, and we relocated to the States when I was about ten or eleven.  We lived out in California—San Diego—but I decided to go to university in Vermont.  I’d been there a few times on vacation and fell in love.  Wasn’t really sure what to major in when I got there, but I ended up falling in love with the medical field and pursued my bachelor’s in nursing.  It’s not the most glamorous profession, but I like helping people.  Plus, wound care is my specialty.  Gimme all that nasty blood and pus!”

“Ugh, really, Emma?” Alicia grimaced.  “I’m pretty sure I just lost my appetite, and we haven’t even made it to the restaurant yet!”

“Sorry!” the nurse apologized bashfully, “Can’t help that stuff like that piques my interest.  Zack can sympathize with you, though.  He gets nauseas when I even _mention_ gangrene toes.”

Foxy gagged.

“Okay, okay.  _So_ , Roman, what brings _you_ out to Westerly?  You’re quite a ways from Florida, eh?”

Roman laughed.  “Yeah, I guess so.  Well, after I finished my residency in Winter Park, I started looking for a job.  I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to start up my own private practice, but when I saw that Dr. Regal had posted a listing regarding finding someone to take over his own upon his retirement, I figured I’d go ahead and apply.  One thing led to another, and here I am.  Didn’t know if Maine would be my cup of tea—I’d never actually been to New England before—but I’m actually really enjoying it here.”

“Well, I think I can speak for the both of us when I say that we’re glad you took the position,” Emma replied.  Alicia nodded in agreement.  “Oh, looks like we’re here!”

The trio stopped just outside of the café and peered up at the brightly colored logo, taking in the splashes of red and orange of the phoenix that rose from the flames. 

“That’s… different,” Foxy remarked, head cocked to the side as she stared inquisitively at the rising bird.

“Looks kinda cool, actually.  Let’s just hope the same can be said about the menu,” the doctor shrugged, pulling the wooden door open and ushering his companions in ahead of him.

As the group entered, they were immediately met by the most wonderful smells imaginable—fresh, buttery pastries baking, clove and honey teas, spiced peaches, and sweetly savory barbeque sauce, just to name a few.  It was an odd combination, but paired alongside the rustic, down-home décor with its grainy wooden tables and chairs and bare brick walls dotted with yellow-bulbed lanterns, the restaurant was utterly inviting.

“Welcome to Café Phoenix!  I’m Renee, and I’ll be your server.  Would you prefer a booth or a table?” a petite blonde greeted as the trio approached the counter.

“Whichever is fine by us,” Emma smiled, glancing over at her companions as they nodded in agreement.

“Okay, a booth it is, then,” Renee replied, leading the group toward their seats.

They settled into the spacious booth—Foxy and Emma on one side and Roman on the other—and ordered their drinks before scanning over the rather eclectic menu as Renee scampered off to fetch their beverages.

“Oooh, breakfast served all day!” Foxy exclaimed gleefully, eyes rapidly skimming over the seemingly endless selection.  “I don’t know what sounds best.  Red velvet waffles or chicken gravy and biscuits?”

“Oh, they do have fish and chips!” Emma noted.  “Or, oh my gosh, ‘soul rolls?’  Egg-roll wrappers stuffed with black beans, greens, roasted corn, chicken, and cheese?  Jesus, that sounds amazing!”

Roman’s eyes raked over the menu, coming to a quick stop as he noticed the surprising addition of _Sua I’a_ under the soup selections.  “Damn, looks like this place has it all,” he chuckled.

“Sure does,” Renee piped up as she returned and placed their drinks down on the table.  “Are you guys ready to order, or do y’all need a minute or two?”

“I’m ready,” Foxy replied.  “How about you guys?”

The other two mhmm’d in response, dazed by the astoundingly-packed menu.

“I’m gonna go with the red velvet waffles.  They come with vanilla ice cream, right?”

“Sure do!  Home-churned right in our kitchen,” the blonde nodded, pen scratching a loopy cursive across her order pad.  “And how about for you two?”

“I was really hankering for fish and chips, but I’m dying to try the soul rolls,” Emma answered.  “Roman?”

“I’ll go with the _Sua I’a_.  I’m amazed that you guys serve it here, actually.”

Renee smiled.  “Oh yeah, the owner loves Samoan cuisine, so he decided to add a few dishes to the menu.  We also have _poi_ and _keke fa’I_ under the dessert section if you’re hankerin’ for something sweet.”

“That’s awesome,” Roman replied, genuinely.  “If I still have any room for dessert, I’ll definitely have to try his take on ‘em.”

“Great!  Well, I’ll go ahead and get your order in.  If you guys need anything, just holler, okay?”

The trio nodded, and Renee excused herself, bouncing off in the direction of the kitchen.

“So, this was a pretty good idea, wasn’t it?” Emma questioned, taking a sip of her water.

“Yeah, definitely!” Alicia agreed.  “What do you think, Roman?  …Roman?” 

When the man made no move to respond, the girls glanced over at him, noticing that he was quite intrigued with staring at something obscured from their view across the room. 

“Earth to Dr. Reigns,” Emma joked.  “This is Emma, over.”  As the doctor stared on, she let out a bemused noise and crumpled her straw wrapper into a little ball before tossing it at him, giggling behind her hand as it pinged off of his head.

“Wh-at?” he questioned dumbly, shaking the daze from his brain.  “What’d I miss?”

“More like what did _we_ miss?” Alicia laughed with a roll of her chocolatey orbs.  “What’s gotten you so interested all of a sudden?”

“Huh?  Oh, it’s nothing.  Just zoned out for a minute,” Roman denied, hands held up in defense.

A boisterous cackle erupted throughout the restaurant, and the girls jumped, craning their necks to find the source of the sudden outburst.  Half-lying across the table and on top of each other, they scanned the room until their eyes finally landed on a man standing behind the front counter, his head thrown back in a jaunty chuckle. 

“Wonder who that is?” Emma questioned, pushing up on her elbows to get a better view.

“I don’t know,” Foxy murmured from beneath the other girl, “he’s pretty cute, though.  You think he works here?”

The Aussie barked out a laugh of her own.  “Well, Foxy, I’d say the shirt gives him away,” she chided, pointing toward the newcomer’s “Café Phoenix” emblazoned shirt.  When he turned around, her brows shot up in surprise as the bold-typed “OWNER” was revealed to be printed across the back.  “Guess he owns the place.  Maybe we should go greet him… how about it, Roman?”

The girls peered up at their boss, rolling their eyes in tandem as they caught him staring once again. 

“Ah, so it was _him!_ ” Emma exclaimed, sitting back into her seat with a wink.

“Yeah, stud.  See somethin’ ya like?” Foxy giggled, puckering her lips in a mocking smooch as she followed the other girl to plop down.

The doctor whipped his head back around, the tell-tale crimson of a blush creeping over his cheeks.  “N-no!” he spluttered, almost knocking his glass of water over in his haste.  “He’s just a strange lookin’ dude.  Think I’ve seen him somewhere before, actually.”

Emma and Alicia glanced at each other knowingly.

“So, Dr. Reigns,” Alicia started slowly, “is there something you’ve been meaning to tell us?”

Roman quirked a brow.  “Uh, is there?  I mean, my life’s pretty much an open book, give or take a few things.”

“What I think Foxy’s trying to ask is, uh, do you happen to swing for the other team?  No offense, but with the staring and all—”

“Oh!  I mean, I-I guess I do.  Never really been attracted to women.  Well, except for Kimberly from the Power Rangers when I was six or seven, but who _wasn’t_ crushing on her?” he replied, scratching at the well-trimmed scruff on his chin.  “What does that even matter, though?”

“It doesn’t!” Foxy squeaked, hands held up in defense.  “We were just a bit surprised is all.  Especially since when we first found out you were single, we started looking around for a nice girl for you.”

Roman grimaced.  “Ugh, you guys sound just like my mom.”

“Oh, no!  We really weren’t meaning any offense,” the receptionist reiterated.  “But now that we know you aren’t interested in girls, we can start checking out some guys for ya.”

“Exactly!” the nurse agreed with a nod.  “Doesn’t Mrs. Styles have a grandson about Roman’s age?”

“Who, AJ?”

“Yeah!”

“Ugh, Emma, he’s hopelessly straight… and _engaged_.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know?  Set my radar right off—”

“Honey, you don’t _have_ a radar.  You didn’t even figure out that Brie and I weren’t just _gal pals_ until only a couple months ago!  Ugh, I _loathe_ that term.”

“Can you guys stop?”

The girls looked up from their eager discussion, matching apologetic looks plastered across their faces.  “Oh, Roman—”

“Let’s just drop it for now, okay?  I’m not really looking to get into anything at the moment, especially with my career just beginning.  Besides, I haven’t even fully finished unpacking yet.”

“Alright, alright.  How about we change the subject?” Emma suggested with a shrug.

Alicia noticed a movement out of the corner of her eye and glanced over, a sly grin parting her burgundy-stained lips.  “Or, how about we _don’t?_   Looks like blondie’s making their way over here, and I ain’t talking about our waitress.”

Roman and Emma peered over as well, the doctor’s stomach somersaulting as the restaurant owner steadily approached.

“How are you guys doing today?” the man asked as soon as he reached the table, a bright smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes.  “Thanks for stopping by Café Phoenix.  I’m the owner, Seth, and if you guys need anything or have any comments, please don’t hesitate to ask, a’ight?”

As Ro stared up at the man, it dawned on him.  He _had_ seen Seth somewhere before.  Actually…

“Wait… Seth?  Seth Rollins?”

The half-blonde quirked a brow.  “Yeah?  Do I know y—wait!  Roman Reigns?  Holy shit!”

With a hearty chuckle, Roman practically leapt to his feet, enveloping the smaller man in a crushing bear hug.  “Shit, I haven’t seen you since high school!  How in the hell have you been, man?”

Emma and Foxy glanced at each other again, undoubtedly thinking the same thought.

Roman reluctantly pulled away from the warm embrace, and Seth followed suit, stepping back to awkwardly card a hand through the brunette portion of his wavy hair.

“I’ve been great, man,” Seth replied. “Went to culinary school after we graduated, worked in a few hotels out in Chi-town, and decided to travel New England for a bit until I stumbled upon Westerly Falls.  As soon as I found this place, I _knew_ that this was the perfect location to open my restaurant.  Might not have a huge exposure yet, but shit, it’s close enough to Bangor that I’ve already had a few city-slickers travel in to eat.  But hey, enough about me.  What’ve you been up to, Romeo?”

Ro blushed at Seth’s use of his old nickname; he hadn’t heard it in practically forever, but it _still_ had the same effect as it had almost eleven years prior.  “Oh,” he answered, “I ended up trading in my scholarship to Georgia Tech to attend med school back in Florida.  Spent the past ten years there until finally finishing up my residency this past spring.  I saw that the doctor here in town, Regal, was looking for someone to take over his practice when he retired; I applied, and he ended up hiring me pretty much right on the spot.”

Seth’s already brilliant grin brightened like the sun.  “That’s amazing, man!” he exclaimed, clapping his long-lost pal on the shoulder.  “You were practically a genius in high school, so it doesn’t surprise me that you’re a doctor now.”

The Samoan let out an embarrassed laugh and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck when a muffled mix of giggles alerted him to the fact that he wasn’t there alone.  “Oh, hell!  Sorry girls.  Seth, this is Emma and Alicia.  They work at the office with me,” he introduced.

“Nice to meet you guys,” Rollins greeted the mischievous gals with a wink before returning his attention to the blushing doctor.  “Well, shit, man.  I don’t wanna bother you guys, so I’m gonna head back to the kitchen—”

“No!”

Seth and Roman looked over in tandem, matching expressions of confusion on their faces.

“Sorry,” Alicia sheepishly apologized, “but Seth, we’d really love for you to stay and chat with us a bit if you aren’t too busy.  You don’t mind, do you Dr. Reigns?”

The larger man shook his head.  “No, I wouldn’t mind at all.  How about it, Seth?  We’ve still got about forty minutes or so left before we have to head back.”

The two-toned chef paused for a moment, seeming to contemplate the offer.  “That sounds great, actually.  Just let me go check on Xavier real quick, and I’ll be right back.”

The trio nodded, and Seth scampered off toward the kitchen, a livelier swing in his step than before. 

* * *

 

“Oh, that was just fantastic!” Emma exclaimed, patting her satisfied belly.

Alicia nodded in agreement.  “I’m stuffed!  Gonna have to loosen my belt a notch or two.”

Seth, having taken the empty spot beside Roman in the booth, nudged the other man’s shoulder with his own.  “How was the _Sua I’a?_ ” he questioned expectantly, akin to a puppy waiting for its treat.  “Did I do it any justice?”

“Well, it could’ve done with a little less coconut milk…” the raven started slowly, lightly scraping his spoon against the side of the empty bowl.  Seth’s smile fell just a tad.  “I’m kidding!  It was great, man.  Actually tastes just like my dad’s.”

The two-toned blushed and tucked a stray lock of platinum behind his ear.  “I’d hope so, considering he gave me the recipe all those years ago.”

Roman threw a quizzical glance toward his friend.  “My dad gave you his recipe?  When did that happen?”

“Crap, probably our junior year in high school?  I remember he was making a batch one evening when I was over, and when I told him how awesome it smelled, he gave me the recipe for it.  He, uh, he actually gave me a ton of ‘em.  _Fa’ausi_ , _Alaisa fa’apopo_ , _Vaimeleni_ , you name it.  I kinda fell in love with a Samo—er, Samoan cuisine, so I pretty much knew that I wanted to include a few of the dishes he’d recommended on the menu.  Was hoping that I would find someone else out there who appreciates it as much as I do.  They _do_ say that the best way to a person’s heart is through their stomach.”

The girls looked at each other, matching smirks in place.

“Did you hear that?” Foxy whispered excitedly, mouth hidden behind her manicured hand.

“Yeah!” Emma replied, hushed.  “Freudian slip, or?”

“Totally _Fehlleistungen_.  So,” Alicia started, eyes alight with playfulness as she addressed the scruffy restauranteur, “you and Dr. Reigns go way back?”

“Oh yeah!” Seth piped up, slinging a toned arm across Ro’s broad shoulders, “we played on the same football team.  I was shit compared to the _big dog_ here, but we still kicked ass.  Made it to the state championships every year.”

Emma choked out an incredulous laugh.  “The ‘big dog’?”

Roman rolled his eyes but seemed to settle in closer to the smaller man beside him; the girls didn’t miss that action _at all_.  “Heh, yeah.  It’s just a dumb nickname that the rest of the team came up with our freshman year.  _Someone_ even got it printed on the back of my jersey…”

“Hey, don’t blame me for that one,” Rollins laughed, “Big E’s the one who came up with the idea.”  With a disappointed sigh, he glanced down at the watch on his wrist and noted the time.  “Well, guys, looks like your lunch is almost up.  I really appreciate y’all letting me barge in, but I should probably get back to work.  Looks like the book club’s here for their one o’clock meeting anyway.”

As if on cue, the bell above the entrance chimed as a group of elderly women hobbled in, Miss Cobb and Mrs. Evans at the forefront, eagerly chatting away as they clutched dog-eared copies of _East of Eden_ under their arms.

The two-toned rose to his feet and gave a nod toward the newcomers before turning back to face his lunch-dates.  “We’ll have to do this again.  It was a pleasure meeting you two,” he continued, extending a hand toward the two gals who both took turns to shake.  He turned to Roman next, lips twitching into a soft smile, “and Ro, it was awesome seeing you again.  I-I’m glad you’re living here in Westerly now.  We really should try and get together more often.  Maybe try out some of your dad’s other recipes?”

“I think I’d like that,” the Samoan replied sincerely, his own mouth curving into a matching grin.  “And we’ll definitely be stopping by more often.  You’ve really outdone yourself here, Seth.  This place is first-class in my book.”

“For sure!” Foxy exclaimed as Emma nodded her head in vigorous agreement.

When Seth blushed at the compliment, Roman practically _felt_ the butterflies in his stomach bursting from their cocoons, their technicolor wings fluttering against his insides.

“Thanks, guys.  That really means a lot.  … So, I’ll definitely be seeing you around?” he questioned, eyes unwavering as they stared deeply into Roman’s own steely grays.

“Y-yeah, man.  I’d really enjoy that.”

“Me too.”

With a parting wave and a promise of next time, the restauranteur wandered off toward the kitchen to prepare the book club’s usual tea and scones.

“So,” Emma started after the half-blonde had left, the corners of her dark-lacquered lips turning up into a sly smile, “it looks like someone’s got a crush on the good doctor here.”

Foxy nodded.  “And it looks like the good doc’s been bitten by the love bug as well.”

Mid-sip, Roman spluttered, a fine mist of water spraying out over the table.  “What?!” he exclaimed, wiping his chin with a stray napkin.  “What are you two getting on about?”

The girls rolled their eyes in tandem.

“Obviously, Seth is crushing on you pretty hard, Roman.  Did you _see_ the way he was looking at you?  Ugh, almost gave me diabetes!”

“And you’re pretty guilty of throwing heart eyes right back at ‘im, doc.”

The Samoan crinkled his brow and crumpled the soiled napkin into a ball, passing it back and forth between his hands.  Finally, after a moment of tense silence, he tossed it at Emma (who fumbled to catch it and hilariously failed), scooted out of the booth and turned to plod off toward the register, a swagger in his step.  “I plead the fifth.”

“Wait, what?!” Alicia shouted, scrambling out of the booth to catch up to her boss, the Aussie quick at her heels.

As Roman approached the counter, the cashier beamed up at him from behind the register.  “How was your meal?” the red-head questioned, accent thick and incredibly Irish.

“It was great, uh, Becky,” the doctor replied, glancing down to read the girl’s name tag; he chuckled inwardly at the Sharpie’d “lass kicker” scrawled just below her name.  “So, what’s the damage?”  He extended his debit card for the girl to take, confused when she casually waved it off.

“Oh, your meal’s on the house—courtesy of Mr. Rollins.”

Alicia giggled from behind the man’s shoulder, playfully sucker-punching Emma in the arm.  “With all of the hugs and blushing and now taking care of Ro’s meal—did we just witness a date?”

The nurse shrugged.  “Hell, I don’t know, but if it means free food, we should come here more often.”

The sudden, frantic bang of the opening kitchen door startled the crowd, and they glanced over, Roman’s heart fluttering as a frazzled Seth sprinted toward them.

“Hey, Romeo!” the two-toned called out, rounding the counter and almost bumping chest-first into the towering Samoan.

The larger man smiled, brow cocked.  “What’s up?”

“I, uh, I forgot to give you my number.  Y’know, i-in case you wanted to hang out or something,” Seth stuttered, half out of breath as he pushed a folded piece of paper into Roman’s hands.  “It’s cool if you don’t want to or are too busy, but, uh, I thought it would be fun to get together again.  Uhm, maybe _in private_ next time?” he added quickly, voice hushed.

The butterflies were full-force.

Emma and Alicia stood back, waiting for Roman’s reply with bated breath.

“I’d love to,” Roman nodded, heart fluttering in his chest at the flash of relief in Seth’s chocolate orbs.

The trio waved goodbye as Seth once again returned to the kitchen, and they headed back out into the crisp, fall air.  As they made their journey back to the office, Roman lagged a few steps behind, blissed-out on his reunion with his eccentric friend.  Remembering the slip of paper in his pocket, he pulled it out and opened it, instantly greeted by Seth’s loopy cursive.  His eyes repeatedly scanned over the phone number, memorizing the ten digits, before they trailed down to the small print below.  Breath caught in his throat, an adoring smile slowly began to grace his features as he read over the quickly scrawled note.

 

_Romeo,_

_I really enjoyed seeing you again.  Can’t believe that we both ended up in Westerly Falls, of all places.  Coincidence or fate?  Guess it’s up to us to decide.  I hope I’m not coming on too strong, but I was hoping that you’d agree to a date?  Our little secret, but I sorta had a huge crush on you all through high school.  I was pretty much gutted after graduation when we had to go our separate ways.  I knew I should’ve acted on my feelings for you then, but I didn’t really know how to do it at the time—always been pretty awkward, ha-ha.  I don’t know if your dad ever said anything, but the reason why he gave me all of those recipes was because he sorta had the feeling that I liked you.  He said that the best way to a person’s heart is through their stomach, so I learned how to cook all of your favorite dishes in hopes that one day I could make ‘em for you.  Lame, right?_

_Anyway, I understand if you don’t feel the same… or never have, for that matter.  I apologize if this is creepy or I’m coming on too strong, but I just needed to tell you after all these years.  And like I said, it’s pretty awesome that we both ended up here in Maine.  Even if you don’t want to go out or anything, I’d still really enjoy hanging out with you again—just as friends, if that’s what you want._

_Give me a call or text whenever.  I’ll always have time for you._

_-Seth_

 

As they reached the end of the sidewalk leading up to the brick office, Roman began to laugh softly.  His chattering co-workers, interrupted by the man’s joy, paused in their stride and turned to face their friend.

“What’s tickled _your_ fancy, all of a sudden?  Hm?” Emma questioned, brow quirked.

He passed the folded note over to the nurse who quickly read it, Alicia peering over her shoulder to take in the hastily written message.

“Oh!” the receptionist exclaimed, excitedly bouncing up and down.  “He _likes_ you, Roman!”

“Looks like he has for quite some time,” Emma added, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.  “And he learned how to cook your favorite meals?  What a charmer!”

“So, are you gonna call him?”

Ro shrugged and took the note back from the Aussie, re-pocketing it.  “Yeah, I think I will.  Don’t wanna let him slip through my fingers again.”

The girls squealed in delight, and Roman rolled his eyes, brushing past them to greet the gentleman waiting patiently at the locked entrance.

“Oh, looks like Mr. Stephens is here for his one-thirty.  And what a nasty bruise he’s got…” Foxy remarked, gesturing toward the man as he held a baggy of ice pressed to the side of his face.

“Wonder if Miss Cobb knows about _this?_ ”

Ushering the patient in, Roman threw a look at his co-workers that definitely meant “please get the hell in here and help me with this mess.” 

With a shrug, they quickly trotted after him, ready to start the rest of their _rather interesting_ day.

Ah, life in Westerly.  


	5. Chapter 5

“Did you need to schedule another appointment for Heidi, Mrs. Davenport?”

“No, Dr. Reigns said that she should be good to go after her surgery.  I can’t believe that after all of these fake earaches, she actually has to have her adenoids removed…”

“Sort of like ‘the boy who cried wolf,’ right?” Alicia laughed, peering over her desk and down at the pouting patient.

Heidi scowled and stuck out her tongue. 

Foxy quickly flashed a grotesque face of her own.  She and the spunky red-head had somewhat of a… _tense_ relationship after the girl had thrown a tantrum and practically destroyed her computer during her first visit under Dr. Regal; five years later, and she was _still_ a brat.  “I’m sure everything will go fine, though.  It looks like Dr. Reigns has referred you guys to Dr. Helmsley at Eastern Maine.  He’s a fantastic otolaryngologist; has quite a schnoz on him, so he’s practically perfect for his profession…”

Mrs. Davenport chuckled, unsure of how to respond to the receptionist’s odd observation.

“Anyway, you shouldn’t hear any more complaints of earaches after you get those adenoids scooped out.  He’ll probably go ahead and put tubes in there as well.  Big ones that stick right out of your ears,” she taunted the young patient, eyes wide and wiggling her fingers like tentacles.

“Oh, uh, okay.  Th-thanks for everything, Alicia,” Mrs. Davenport said quickly.  She grabbed her nonplussed daughter by the arm and hauled tail out of the office, muttering something like “what a weird bunch” under her breath.

“Are you and Heidi Davenport _still_ going at it?” Emma asked as she emerged from the hall, a look of incredulousness on her face.

Alicia glowered.  “Hey, that little hellion cost me _weeks_ trying to get this place back up and running again.  My hand _still_ cramps up when I even _think_ about all of the notebooks and pens I went through while waiting for my new computer!”

The nurse smirked and leaned over, running a finger across the receptionist’s keyboard and coming back with a smattering of crumbs.  “And look how nicely you keep it.  Is this Oreo residue?”

“I get hungry!” Foxy defended, closing the laptop with a huff of contempt.  She glanced up at the clock on the wall, sighing in relief.  “Go flip the sign, smartass.  We’re officially closed for the day.”

Emma complied while the receptionist began to tidy up the waiting room.  “So,” she started, returning her attention to her friend, “Dr. Reigns…”

Alicia brushed past, returning a crinkled copy of _Women’s World_ to its proper rack.  “Isn’t it great?  Who would’ve thought that he’d run into an old friend here in Westerly of all places!  And a cute one who just so happens to have had a crush on him for all these years.”

The Aussie nodded slowly.  “Don’t you think it’s a bit odd, though?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like you said: in _Westerly_ of all places.”

The receptionist rolled her eyes.  “Honestly, Emma?  You think Roman and Seth meeting up after all these years is strange, but you don’t even bat an eye at Dr. Regal?  _He’s_ the odd one!”

Emma huffed, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe.  “I didn’t _disagree_ with you.  By the way, did Roman tell you what happened this morning?

“Hmm?  No, I haven’t been able to speak with him since lunch, but now you’ve gone and piqued my curiosity…”

“Well, apparently Regal showed up at his house unannounced.”

“What’s so weird about that?  I mean, _you’ve_ done that to _me_ before.”

“Yeah, but I don’t come over while you’re sleeping and start doing your dishes.”

Foxy paused, eyebrows raised in astonishment.  “Wait, what?”

“That’s what I said!  Roman said he heard a clatter, so he went out to inspect… and it was Dr. Regal.  Said that he told him he went over to grab something that he’d forgotten in the move, but why would Regal still have a key to Roman’s house?  Especially since Roman, uh, _owns_ it now—”

“Well, to make up for the fright, he _did_ fix a pretty extravagant breakfast,” Roman interjected, making his presence known.

The girls jumped back in surprise, hands clutched at their hearts.

“Oh, Dr. Reigns!  I didn’t know you were here,” Alicia gasped.

Emma gave the man a sheepish grin.  “Sorry for gossiping.”

The man shrugged, making his way to the door as the girls followed close behind.  “No big.  I mean, it wasn’t a secret or anything.  Just don’t mention it to him if you see him again.  Don’t wanna give him a reason to think that I think he’s strange or anything.”

Alicia cocked a brow.  “But it _is_ pretty weird that he just showed up and decided to do your dishes.  I mean, if I were you, I definitely would’ve been pretty freaked out!”

“Exactly.  And he still has a key to _your_ house?”

“It’s honestly nothing, guys.  I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this—”

“It _is_ a big deal, Roman!  Gosh, what if something terrible had happened?”

“Like what?  It’s _Dr. Regal_ —”

“What if… what if he came in and murdered you in your sleep!”

Roman halted, half-way across the threshold.  “What?” he asked, brows scrunched in disbelief.  “Alicia, Dr. Regal is _not_ a serial killer.”

“You don’t have to be a serial killer to be a murderer!  I mean, just this year—” the receptionist began, but she was immediately silenced by a certain Aussie’s hand covering her mouth.

Emma shook her head and sighed, grabbing the girl’s arm and dragging her out the door as Roman followed behind.  “Foxy, have you been watching _Unsolved Mysteries_ again during the lulls?  Dr. Reigns,” she started, glancing back at the towering Samoan, “you’ll have to excuse her.  Alicia spends too much time watching those dumb shows and gets caught up in ‘em.”  She grabbed the office key from Alicia’s keyring and locked the door before pushing her down the pathway toward the parking lot.  “I’m just gonna take her home.  Brie can handle the rest of it.”

The doctor smirked.  “I’m prescribing you twenty-ccs of sleep, stat.”

Foxy stuck her tongue out at the older man before being man-handled into the passenger seat of Emma’s Volvo.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Roman,” Emma called out with a wave, “have a good night with Seth!”

Roman quirked a brow.  “What?” he shouted back, but the other woman had already hopped in and closed the door.  “That little shit—”

“Uh, hey,” a familiar voice interrupted, causing Roman to glance over, heart fluttering in his chest as he noticed that Seth was standing just a few feet away.

A bright smile turned up the corners of his mouth, and he jogged toward the other man.  “Hey!  What are you doing here?”

Seth shrugged, twitchy hands finding their way into his pockets.  “Figured I’d walk you home.  Closed up the restaurant for the night and thought you might like some company.  I-I’m sorry if that’s creepy…”

“No!” Roman replied quickly, re-adjusting his messenger back on his shoulder.  “I’d actually really like that.”  The butterflies from earlier came back full-force as he noticed the tell-tale crimson of a blush creeping up on the restauranteur’s cheeks.

They took off down the sidewalk, striking up a casual conversation.

“So,” Seth started, “how was the rest of your day?  Eventful?”

Roman laughed.  “Well, Mr. Stephens apparently got in a fight with Mr. Abernathy.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Abernathy with the club foot.  Just this morning, he came in claiming that his dick was broken.  Just pretty bruised up is all.”

“Oh!  Mr. Abernathy who’s sleeping with _Mrs._ Stephens?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.  Well, Mr. Stephens kinda put two-and-two together, and I guess they fought it out over Lavender.  Came in with a nasty black eye, but I sent him home with an ice pack and a couple days off work.  I wonder what’ll happen next, though.”

“Well, I’m sure Miss Cobb will fill me in during her next book club meeting.  Don’t have to worry about missing out on any gossip with Ella around.  She’s like a walking tabloid!”

“Ah, I was wondering how you knew about Mr. Abernathy.  Didn’t think Westerly could be so… exciting, actually.”

“Hm?  Oh, we have our fair share of events here.  I mean, most of ‘em are just kind of small like Mrs. Stephens’ love-triangle, but a few strange ones have happened over the years.  Actually, a guy went missing earlier this year.”

The Samoan’s breath hitched.  “Oh-oh really?”

Seth nodded.  “Yeah.  There was a search party and everything, but they eventually had to call it quits after a few months.  It’s weird.  Like, he just sorta vanished.”

An uneasy feeling settled itself into the pit of Roman’s stomach.  He peered around at the vast foliage surrounding them, the woodlands settled back just a few-hundred yards away from the small township.  Maybe he was still out in the woods somewhere?  It seemed to stretch on for miles and miles-- the perfect location to harbor a missing person.  “They, uh, they weren’t able to find his body?  At all?”

The two-toned shook his head.  “No.  They even scoped out his apartment, but everything looked pretty normal.  No signs of a break-in or anything.  Weirdly enough, his wallet and cell phone were still sitting on the kitchen counter, and the door was left unlocked, like maybe he was in a rush to get somewhere and just forgot ‘em.”

“That’s kinda messed up.”

“Yeah.  He was kind of a loner, too.  Didn’t have many friends, but anyone who’d met him said that he was a nice guy… a bit eccentric but otherwise nice.  Ambrose, I think his name was.  Or is.  He might still be alive.” Seth paused in his explanation, a disappointed frown set in place.  “Well, shit.  Looks like we’re here.”

Roman glanced up, noticing that they were _indeed_ standing just outside of the towering structure he called home.  He turned toward Seth and smiled, trying to stave off the twisting unease in his gut.  “Yeah, I guess we are.  Thanks for walking me home.  You really didn’t have to.”

The restauranteur grinned sheepishly, nervously carding a hand through his bleached locks.  “Well, uh, I actually didn’t show up to the office to walk you home.  That was more of an excuse for me to work up the courage to ask you somethin’.”

The Samoan quirked a brow.  “Oh, really?  And what would that be?”

“Well,” Seth started awkwardly, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the asphalt, “I was hoping that you’d maybe agree to having dinner with me tomorrow at my place?  I-it doesn’t have to be anything romantic!  Just hang out as friends.  Y’know, catch up on what’s been goin’ on since high school, maybe reminisce about the old days—”

“I’d love to,” Roman agreed enthusiastically, “but, uh, I was actually hoping for something like, y’know, _more than friends_?”

With that, Seth’s face lit up into a bright, toothy grin, causing Ro’s heart to practically leap out of his chest.

“Wow, th-that’s awesome!  Oh my god, you really don’t know how relieved I am.  When I saw you at the restaurant, I couldn’t believe that you were actually _here_.  Like, how fucking crazy is that?  I-I thought I’d never see you again after high school.  Thought I’d never get to tell you how I really felt.  Oh God, I’m coming on way too strong.  Stupid!  L-let’s just cancel tomorrow.  I mean, yeah, we _just_ agreed to it, but—”

The rest of Seth’s babbling was lost, muffled by the soft press of Roman’s lips against his own.  It was utterly amazing, as if a thousand sparks were coursing through his bloodstream, his veins thrumming with life.  Like the heavens parted above him, angels raining down their choruses of hallelujah.  His heart beat rapidly, threatening to escape his chest as his eyes grew wide in realization.  Roman was _kissing him_.

When the two-toned made no move to respond, the Samoan pulled slowly pulled back, regret flooding his senses.  “Shit, I’m sorry.  I-I shouldn’t have done that,” he quickly apologized, eyes downcast.  “I’m just gonna head in, okay?  I-I’ll call you…”

“Actually,” Seth panted, lashes fluttering as he tried to regain his breath, “you should do that again.”

The doctor lifted his head, meeting his friend’s heated gaze.  Instead of shock, Seth’s eyes absolutely shone, their chocolaty depths brimming with adoration.  With a delighted grin of his own, he swooped in, claiming the other man’s lips once more.  Roman’s heart soared; he couldn’t believe that after all of these years, the pair had somehow found each other.  As if fate had somehow brought them together, her nimble fingers weaving the red string that connected their destinies.  The world seemed to melt away around them, the rich, autumn foliage blending into the evening sky and creating a blur of warm oranges and yellows.  Arms wrapped around each other, they swayed in the soft breeze, their once-lost love reaching full bloom.  It was perfect.

With a reluctant sigh, the pair broke for air, gasping against each other’s lips.  Seth gradually opened his eyes, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth as he stared into Ro’s own steely grays.  “Wow,” he breathed out, body settling into a post-liplock buzz.

“Yeah, wow,” Roman agreed, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to the other’s bearded jaw.

Seth hummed in contentment.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, the pair gently pulled apart, arms coming down to awkwardly hang by their sides.

“So, I should probably head home,” Seth began, a bit hesitant.

“Y-yeah, it’s starting to get late,” the larger man replied, a soft frown pulling at his mouth.

“Don’t really want to…”

“Me either.”

The two-toned barked out a laugh.  “But hey, we’ll see each other tomorrow, right?  I mean, if you still wanna come—”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Roman interrupted, stopping the other man before doubt could settle in.  “I’ll give you a call, yeah?  That way I know where I’m going.”

“Sure,” Seth nodded, hands awkwardly finding their way back into his pockets.  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”  He turned to leave but was stopped by Roman’s hand on his arm pulling him back around; he didn’t have the chance to ask what was up before the other man’s warm lips were once again on his, the pressure gentle yet unyielding.

With a soft smile, Roman finally broke the kiss, reaching up to caress Seth’s cheek with the back of his hand.  “Have a good night, Seth.”

The restauranteur sighed happily, feeling as if he was floating on cloud nine. 

“You too, Romeo.”

* * *

 

After the pair had finally parted ways for the evening, Roman gradually made his way into the house, stopping once or twice to dead-head a few of the massive amounts of flowers spread throughout the front-yard.  He admired Mrs. Regal’s tender care, the vibrant shades of dahlias, asters, and coreopsis still in bloom with the changing seasons, a tug at his heartstrings as he thought of his mother’s own carefully tended beds back home.  Sure, he was a tad homesick for the sunny skies and salty breezes, but Maine had a different kind of charm in itself—not to mention that Seth was there, so that was a plus.

Toeing off his loafers and tossing his messenger bag by the coat rack, he began his usual ritual of changing into pajamas, frustratingly dialing the thermostat back to seventy, and padding into the kitchen to whip up a quick dinner.  His stomach was still comfortably full—thanks to Seth’s utterly delicious soup—so he decided on an apple to tide himself over until bedtime, plucking the glossy fruit from the basket on the countertop.  When he turned to leave the kitchen, an uneasy feeling settled itself into the pit of his stomach—why was the basement door open?  He shook his head and traipsed over, socked feed slipping on the linoleum.

“It’s an old house,” he murmured to himself, trying to settle the creeping feelings of doubt.  “It’s bound to happen.  Better call a carpenter… along with the electrician.”

He grasped the knob, but before closing the door, curiosity got the best of him.  He stared down into the inky depths, the total darkness of the basement sending a chill up his spine.  The pattering of tiny feet on the creaky steps echoed down the stairwell, followed by a tiny pair of shining orbs; Roman froze on the spot, eyes glued to the small dots in the darkness as he sucked in a laborious breath.  After a moment, the creature chittered, breaking the man out of his terrified trance.

A mouse.

“Fuck,” he gasped, heart hammering in his chest, “okay, gotta call the electrician, a carpenter, _and_ the exterminator.”

Having had enough of staring, he quickly pushed the door shut, a sudden, strange blast of cold air rushing by him as the door finally clicked into place.  He glanced down at his arm with a shudder, noting the goosebumps forming and pushing up the tiny hair follicles.

“I-it’s a draft,” he reasoned, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat as he pulled the sleeve of his sweater down over the prickled flesh.  “It’s an old house… a _really_ old house.”

With a nod, he swiped his apple off of the counter and quickly padded into the living room, flopping down on the leather sofa with a contented sigh.  He pulled his laptop into his lap and popped the lid open, signing in and opening his browser.  He chuckled to himself as the cat video he’d been watching a few evenings prior was still up and quickly hit the replay button, letting homeostasis set in as the tiny calico pounced around the screen.

“I should get a cat,” he mumbled through a mouthful of apple, reaching up to wipe his chin of the trickle of juice.  “Might do well with some company in this place.”

As the cat continued to chase its toy, he let his mind trail off, imagination running wild.  He pictured his kitchen, warm and inviting with the rich aroma of ziti baking in the oven, Seth standing at the center island chopping cucumber for a traditional _Oka I’a_.  He walked up behind the man and wrapped his arms around his waist, surprising the two-toned with a quick peck on the cheek, before turning him around and quickly enveloping him into a loving embrace.  He pictured a crackling fire in the fireplace, its warmth radiating throughout the house and erasing the chill that seemed to live within the decades old bungalow.  He pictured himself in bed, the duvet snug at his collar as his eyelids began to droop with the heaviness of sleep, a strong arm thrown protectively across his waist, a set of deep, cerulean eyes staring back at him in reverence.

He snapped back to reality with a jolt.

Seth’s anecdote from earlier flooded back to him, piquing his curiosity.  Resolving himself, he opened up a new tab and navigated to a search engine, quickly typing “Missing person Westerly Falls Maine” into the bar and pressing enter.  After a moment, the results popped up, a mass of links upon links that beckoned him to click.  He opened a few of them in new tabs and scanned through the information, quickly cycling from one page to another. 

“The Penobscot County Missing Persons unit is searching for a twenty-nine-year old man who was last seen in the area of Granville Road in Westerly Falls, Maine.  Dean Ambrose, of 622 Granville Road, Apartment C 16, is six feet four inches tall and weighs approximately two-hundred-twenty-five pounds.  Police say that evidence found so far does not conclude to an abduction, although the door to his apartment was unlocked when investigators arrived at the scene.  Ambrose’s cellular phone and wallet were also found on the kitchen counter.  According to acquaintances, Ambrose may be wearing a leather jacket and blue jeans.  He has auburn hair and blue eyes.  Anyone with information on Dean Ambrose is asked to call police at—”

As Roman continued to scroll down the page, his breath caught in his throat.  Below the article sat a photograph, courtesy of the Penobscot County Police. 

Staring straight back at him, eyes as blue as the ocean and radiating with the same sense of utter despair, was the man from the mirror.       


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time, but I felt that it was a good place to end this one (the chapter, that is!). Thank you to everyone who has read, bookmarked, given kudos, and/or commented! I truly appreciate all of your support. Thank you all for reading; you all make my day brighter! <3

Roman stared on in disbelief, detailing each of the man’s features.  From the stubble lining his jaw to the dark circles of fatigue beneath his red-rimmed eyes, he committed the portrait to memory, lining it up in a perfect match with the reflection from the bathroom mirror.  He couldn’t wrap his mind around it.  Why was the man in his house?  What did he want from him?  Was he a friend of Regal’s?  His head was pounding as it cycled through the fleeting thoughts.  If the man _was_ this Ambrose guy, then he should definitely report it to the police… right?

He’d made up his mind.

Quickly tossing his laptop aside, he sped into the kitchen and grabbed the telephone receiver out of its cradle.  He punched in the number for the local police station and waited for the dispatcher to come over the line, each ring seeming to stretch on for hours. 

“C’mon, pick up,” he grumbled, the uneasy feeling in his stomach morphing into full-blown nausea. 

He glanced over at the basement door.  What if Ambrose _was_ in the house, playing tricks on him to lure him into the cellar?  What would happen if he actually went down and inspected it himself?  Would the man attack him?  Would he tell him why he was there?  …Would he _leave_?  Weird things _had_ been happening, though.  First, the noncompliant thermostat, then the practically self-destructive microwave, and finally the startling reflection.  It had only been a day, but the man seemed to haunt his sub-conscience, his radiant, sapphire eyes boring a hole straight through Roman’s soul.

He shuddered.

Finally, after what seemed like a year, the dispatcher picked up, her nasally voice curt and professional as it startled the man out of his racing thoughts.  “Westerly Falls PD.  What is your emergency?”

“Uh, hi,” Roman started slowly, keeping a careful eye on the basement door.  “Uh, good evening…?”

The dispatcher made a slight sound of contempt.  “Good evening, sir.  What is your emergency?” she repeated.

“This is going to sound ridiculous, but I think there’s a man in my house.”

“A man, sir?”

“Yes, a man, sir… uh, ma’am,” the doctor replied, stumbling over his twisted tongue.

A slight creaking—as if someone was clomping over floorboards—resounded from above, causing the man to quickly tilt his head back and stare up at the ceiling.  He followed the groaning with wide eyes, gaze beginning just above his head and trailing to the far end of the kitchen where it came to a sudden standstill over the doorway.  He couldn’t breathe, the air stolen from his lungs in terror.

“Sir… sir?  Are you still there?” the dispatcher asked, voice cool and even.

Roman blinked.  “I think he’s in the attic.”

“In the attic, sir?”

“I didn’t even know I had an attic…”

“Sir, the man is in the attic?”

A muffled clatter—like the upending of boxes—resonated from the ceiling, Roman’s heart thumping in time with the scattering of miscellaneous objects across the floorboards above.

“Sir, are you still there?  The man is in the attic?”

The footsteps picked up again, this time veering right and clomping over the hallway.  Steeling himself, Roman took a deep breath and slowly began to make his way out of the kitchen, following the echoing footfalls.  “This is _my_ home,” he mumbled, gathering together a meager pile from the scraps of courage that hadn’t yet fled his body, “and _I’m_ going to protect it.”

“Sir!” the dispatcher exclaimed, trying to keep her wits about her, “If there is an intruder in your home, then you need to stay in a safe place.  Is there anywhere in the house that you can go?  Sir?”

Ignoring the woman on the other end of the line, he let his feet carry him down the hallway, trailing closely behind the creaking footsteps.  Toward the middle of the corridor, the clomping came to a halt, Roman stopping just beneath.  He let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling, brow cocking in curiosity as he spotted the frayed remains of a pull-cord attached to the unmistakable outline of a door cut into the plaster.

“Huh, I guess I _do_ have an attic after all…”

Another loud thump caused him to flinch, but he gritted his teeth and stared on, watching with narrowed eyes as the sides of the attic door bulged slightly under the weight of a booted foot.  Haphazardly tossing the phone to floor, he clenched his fists at his sides and sucked in a deep breath.

“I know you’re up there!” he bellowed, voice a boisterous boom in the narrow passage.  “What do you want from me?!”  A few moments of tense silence passed before he continued.  “I know you can hear me!  Now, before I call the cops on your ass, I’m giving you five seconds to come clean!”

On the other end of the discarded receiver, the dispatcher rubbed a hand over her face in disbelief.  “You _did_ call the police, moron!” she shrieked, exasperated.

The woman’s remark, however, was ignored as a _distinctly familiar_ voice rang out from above.

“R-Roman?  Is that you?”

The Samoan reeled back, utterly and positively dumbfounded.  “D-Dr. Regal?!”

“Oh, thank heavens!” the good doctor exclaimed, relieved at hearing his protégé’s voice.  “Please, Roman, could you open the trap for me?  I seem to have gotten stuck up here!”

Roman hesitated for a moment.  What if that _wasn’t_ Dr. Regal?  What if it was that Ambrose guy playing a trick on him, playing the man like a fiddle just for him to jump down and murder him in cold blood?

“Roman?  Are you still there?”

No matter what his panic-stricken brain wanted to say, though, that _was_ Dr. Regal’s voice shouting down from the ceiling.  Trusting his gut, he reached up and grabbed the pull-cord.

“Dr. Regal, stand back!  I’m going to pull the latch open!”

With a strong tug, the door pulled free from the ceiling, revealing the wholly relieved (and dirt-streaked) face of one William Regal.

“Oh, Jesus,” the dispatcher groaned, thoroughly irritated by what was occurring on the other end of the line.  “I hope you’re pleased with yourself for wasting my time!  We _will_ be billing you for the inconvenience as well!”  With a few, choice expletives, she disconnected the call.

The older man disappeared for a moment before popping back into view, a scuffed, red-lacquered toolbox clutched in his hands.  “Roman, catch this for me, would you?”  He tossed the case down to the other doctor before scrambling down the rickety ladder.  Once his feet were securely on ground-level, he lifted the door and pushed it back up into the ceiling.  “Thank you, lad!  Oh, I’m so relieved that you heard me!”

“I-it’s no problem,” Roman stuttered, thoroughly perplexed.  “If you don’t mind me asking… _why_ were you in the attic?”

Regal carded a hand through his hair, swiping away at a stray cobweb that had matted itself to his disheveled locks.  “You probably think that I’m insane, but after you mentioning the thermostat this morning, I became quite curious.  See, I felt dreadful for selling you the house without knowing that the wirework was wonky—and to think that I had just had the electrician over a week or so before you moved in, humph—so I took it upon myself to come and see if I could repair the issue.  Well, I had only been up there about a half an hour tinkering around, you see, when the trap door suddenly closed by itself!  I have been into the attic several times, and that has never happened before until today.  I tried to open the damned thing from the inside, but it just wouldn’t budge.  I checked my watch and was quite relieved to see that you would most likely be returning from work within the next couple hours or so, so I decided to wait it out.  I would have called, but as coincidence would have it, I seemed to have forgotten my mobile at home.  I guess that while waiting for you to return, I must have fallen asleep.  Understand?”

Roman let the other man’s explanation roll through his mind.  It _was_ quite plausible that the man was actually trying to repair the unruly thermostat, but Emma’s comment from earlier began to eat at him.  Why _did_ Regal still have a key to his house?

“Roman,” the doctor continued, brushing a smudge of dust from his flannel top, “you must think that I’m quite bonkers for coming here twice in one day, but I _do_ feel quite awful for not knowing how poor of a condition this house is actually in.  This is why I’d like to propose something to you.  I do understand if you don’t accept, though.”

The Samoan quirked a brow.  He ignored the old saying and decided to take the bait, his curiosity getting the best of him.  “And what would that be?”

“Well, since I _do_ still have a key to the house, I would like you to consider allowing me to check in for repairs.  As I said, I do understand if you are not comfortable with this agreement, but as I am the one responsible for this mess, I would very much like to remedy any situations that would so happen to arise—such as with the thermostat, of course.”

“Dr. Regal, why _do_ you still have a key to the house?  It doesn’t strike you as odd?  … At all?”

The older doctor shrugged.  “Now _this_ is where you’ll believe that I’m mad, but this house has quite an outstanding amount of sentimental value to me.”  He closed his eyes, seeming to weigh the words on his tongue.  “Teresa and I purchased this home after I finished medical school—just as you have—and this is where we conceived and raised our family.  To me, the walls of this house live and breathe.  As I walk down the hallway, I can see my sons scurrying past to the kitchen for supper.  As I roam the yard, admiring Teresa’s gentle care of her gardens, I feel peace.  I can see my sons as the children they once were, helping their mother weed the flower beds or playing in the sprinkler on a sweltering summer’s day.  I close my eyes and breathe in the blossoms from the magnolia tree, reliving springtime picnics on the lawn.  From the scent of ancient, leather-bound tomes to the light of dawn shining in through the windows, I feel an overwhelming sense of unity.  An unbreakable bond that changed my cold, hollow life for the better.”

He took a breath before continuing, a dismal sigh escaping his lips.  “However, children do not stay as children forever, and when Grant and Joseph left to begin their own life journeys, I felt… numb.  I desired to relive the days of yore, to once again hear the patter of tiny feet over hardwood.  To once again see my boys take their first, teetering steps across the den.  It was a foolish dream, though, as it is quite impossible to reverse time’s flow.  Upon my retirement, Teresa urged me to consider selling the house.  I, of course, hesitated, but deep inside my gut, I knew that it was time to let go of the past and move on with my life.  You cannot live in the yesterday, Roman.  You must march forth into tomorrow with your head held high.”

The man let out a wistful chuckle.  “To answer your question, I kept a copy of the key so that I may have at least one piece of the house left to hold onto, but as the days have gone by, my heart has ached terribly.  I have abused it, though, and I beg your forgiveness.  I just hope that you can understand how I’m feeling.  It’s as if an integral part of my spirit has been torn from me.”

Roman frowned, the man’s somber words tugging at his heartstrings.  He’d never been in the same position as Dr. Regal, but he _could_ understand the man’s sorrow.  To live in one location for years, to raise your family and see your children grow into adulthood, and then to watch them leave to pursue their own lives _would_ be quite bittersweet.  A small, angry part of him wanted to take the key from the man, to never allow him to intrude on his life again, but a larger, more empathetic part understood the man’s pain and wanted to allow him the comfort of being able to relive his golden years.

The larger part won out.

“I accept your offer,” he bluntly stated, extending a hand in offering.

The Englishman’s saddened, icy orbs lit up in glee as he realized what the other man had said.  “Y-you do?”

The younger physician nodded.  “Dr. Regal, I know that you truly mean no harm.  I can see how much this house means to you, so I’d be more than happy to let you swing by to check for repairs.  And, uh, maybe you and Mrs. Regal can come visit?  When I’m home, of course.”

“Oh, thank you, lad!” William exclaimed, a bright grin quickly breaking out across his stony features as he clasped the other man’s hand in his own.  “And yes, yes, of course.  I give you my word that I will only come by when you’re home.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Roman laughed; Regal’s excitement was rather contagious.  “I am wondering, though.  Were you able to fix the thermostat?  That damn thing’s been giving me trouble since I first moved in.”

The older man pursed his lips, brows furrowing in puzzlement.  “Well, to be honest, I actually wasn’t able to find anything wrong with it.  Perhaps you _should_ call the electrician in the morning.  I’m sure Dwayne should have no trouble figuring out why it’s acting up.”

Roman groaned inwardly.  It would be at least another few days living in Antarctica.

“Now,” Regal started, breaking the man’s inner-grumblings, “I believe that I have quite outstayed my welcome, and I’m sure Teresa must be wondering what’s taking so long.  Humph, I can _already_ hear her taunting me about getting locked in the attic.”

The pair started off toward the entryway, their own laughter echoing throughout the corridor.

“Please do let me know what Dwayne has to say regarding the thermostat,” William continued as they entered the living room.  “I’m quite curious as to what is causing it to—” The man trailed off dazedly, eyes fixated on something across the room. 

Roman eyed him curiously.  “Hm?  What’s wrong?”  He let his own gaze trail from the man’s suddenly pale face, following his line of sight until it fell upon the still-open laptop.  Ambrose’s photograph was practically taking up the entire screen.

“Where did you find that photograph?” Regal questioned softly, a hint of panic in his otherwise steady voice.

“Dr. Regal…”

“ _Where_ did you find that photograph?” he repeated, eyes never leaving Ambrose’s rugged form.

“I-I… my boyf—friend, Seth, was telling me about how a guy went missing this year.  I was curious, so I did a quick web search.  That’s what came up.  Dean Ambrose, his name is.  Do… do you know him?”

The older man frowned, deep lines crossing his forehead.  “Yes, I did know Mr. Ambrose,” the Englishman affirmed hesitantly, turning to look Roman dead in the eye.  “He was a… _bad man_.”

Roman furrowed his brows.  “A ‘bad man’?”

Regal shook his head and pivoted on his heel, making a quick beeline for the doorway.  He opened the door and paused in the threshold, the light of the setting sun casting a golden halo around his figure.  “Roman,” he threw over his shoulder, not daring to glance back at the other man, “a word of advice.  And _please_ , whatever you may do, _please_ _heed my words_.”

“Y-yes, sir?” the Samoan questioned, urging the man to continue.

“Whatever you do, do _not_ go into the basement.”

Before Roman could respond, the man was off like a bat out of hell, his retreating form quickly becoming a tiny ink-blot in the distance.  Once Regal was nothing more than a speck on the horizon, he closed the door and shook his head, utterly perplexed by the man’s suddenly bizarre behavior.

“A _bad man_?  Heh, like _he’s_ one to talk.”

Roman froze, blood running ice-cold and the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight up as a gravelly voice spoke up from behind him.

“Dear William Regal,” the low voice continued, words absolutely dripping with malice, “the patron saint of falsehoods.”

Slowly, Roman turned, statuesque legs breaking free from their base as he shifted to face the statements’ source.  His breath hitched in his throat, eyes widening in horrific realization.

Standing before him, oceanic orbs boring straight through his soul, was Dean Ambrose.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, another short chapter! My apologies :'( I promise that the next one will be longer, though! Upped the rating to M just to be safe.
> 
> Thanks for reading, dolls! Your comments, kudos, bookmarks, etc. are highly appreciated! <3

Roman was frozen in fear, his heartbeat as quick as a drag racer’s engine as it sped down the raceway in record time.  The forgotten toolbox slipped out of his grip, the chest making an awful clatter as it fell to the floor.

“What’s wrong, Roman?  Cat got your tongue?” Ambrose taunted, cocking his head to the side.  The expression in his eyes was one of absolute animosity, shaking Roman to the core.

The Samoan sucked in a trembling breath, trying to form something other than an ungodly shriek on his tongue.  “Wh-what do you want from me?” He finally croaked, throat bone dry.  “D-do you want money?  I’ll give it to you.  I’ll give you anything… a-anything you want.”

Ambrose barked out a wicked laugh, bringing a hand up to tap an erratic rhythm against his collarbone.  His snakelike tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip in a slow swipe.  “Hm… _anything_?”

The doctor began to tilt his head down in a nod, but before he could even finish, he was pinned against the door, Ambrose’s eerily cool breath ghosting across the shell of his ear.

“You might want to rethink that, _baby_ ,” the man whispered, voice low and bizarrely seductive.  A thick, suffocating cloud of silence fell over the room, seconds seeming to pass like molasses in winter before Ambrose continued.  “What I _want_ is information on your _dear friend_ Regal.”

Regal?  What information could he want on _him_?  The good doctor’s warning remark before he’d practically fled the house clawed at the back of his mind.  _Was_ Ambrose a “ _bad man_?”  For all intents and purposes, he seemed to be living up to that statement.  “Wh-what do you want to know?”

The man huffed out another quiet laugh, causing Roman to shiver as the strangely glacial breath whispered over his flesh.  “I’m just curious, honestly.  How’s he doing?”

Roman quirked a brow, dumbfounded by the other’s strangely simple query.  “What?”

Another quick chuckle was huffed against his neck, and _shit_ , if Roman wasn’t scared senseless at the moment, he was pretty sure that the man’s abnormally erotic behavior would’ve had him sporting a half-chub by then.  He hated his brain sometimes, especially when those piercing sapphires came back into view, causing him to choke back a moan.  His mind raced, dodging between thoughts of “Wow, this guy’s going to kill me” and “Wow, this guy is fucking _gorgeous_.”  Fuck, if the madman hadn’t gotten under his skin in just an insanely short amount of time.

“You heard me,” Ambrose smirked wolfishly, their noses almost touching.  “So, how’s ol’ Willy doing?  He still head-over-heels for that whore?  Living his _perfect_ , _suburban life_?”

Roman reeled back—well, as much as he could in his current position—eyes narrowed.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.  Do you mean his _wife?_ ”

The other man snarled.  “Yes, his… _wife_.”  He seemed to gag on the word as if it had left a sour taste in his mouth.

“I mean, I-I guess he’s doing well?  He retired from his practice, so I think he’s sort of bored.  Y’know, he’s come over twice already today.  Scared the shit out of me both times—”

“I wasn’t asking for a novel.”

“And I wasn’t asking for you to intrude on my home.”

A beat of silence passed between them, their gazes locked in an intense battle.

“So… you can let me go now, right?  I told you what you wanted to know,” Roman asked, trying to push himself off of the door.  However, Ambrose’s force was much too strong, so he fell back limply with a heavy sigh of defeat.  His wrists were pinned, chest-to-chest with the lunatic, and honestly, a part of him was quite exhilarated by the experience; he quickly beat that thought to a bloody pulp.  “Really, man?  If you just get the hell out of here, I promise I won’t call the police.  And then maybe change the locks…”

Dean grinned, eyes shining with mischief.  “Make me,” he stated simply, his voice the perfect Molotov cocktail of swagger and cockiness.  He studied Roman’s expression, noting the slight, amatory glint in the steely grays with an amused chuckle.  “Or… is that the _opposite_ of what you want right now?”

Roman’s breath hitched in his throat.  _Shit_ , was he _really_ that transparent?

The other man dipped his head back down, nosing at the Samoan’s neck before planting an open-mouthed kiss to the heated flesh. 

Roman gasped.  The madman’s lips were as cold as ice, his breath seeming to leave a frosty path as they _oh-so-slowly_ trailed up to his ear.  _Why is he so cold_?  “L-let me go,” he stuttered, trying to muster an intimidating edge to his voice.  _Don’t let go_.  “Wh-what are you doing?”

Dean chuckled yet again, lightly nipping at the other man’s earlobe.  “You’re a funny guy, Roman,” he observed, relinquishing his grip on Ro’s wrists as he brought one of his hands up to grip at the other’s ebony locks.  He twisted the hair around his fist and pulled, smirking at the man’s effort to muffle a wanton moan.  “You put on a front, trying to act like a tough guy, but in the end, I can make you _bend to my will_.”

“You can’t make me do shi—ah!”  In his lust-induced state, he failed to notice that Ambrose’s other hand had worked its way down to his groin.  His eyes grew wide, pupils blown in desire as the lunatic palmed him through his sweatpants.  It had been _years_ since he’d been with another person, let alone be able to actually “take care of business” himself due to his grueling hours of study and residency.  His mind turned to goo, his body molding like clay in a sculptor’s hands.

“Heh, you’d be surprised at what I can do, Roman,” Dean whispered, continuing his delicious teasing.  “I wonder what your _mother_ would think of her _perverted, little boy_?  Caught up in the web of a _total stranger_.”

The doctor groaned, completely overtaken by the man’s oddly seductive rambling.  He pushed his hips out, desperately seeking more contact, more of the _oh-so-sweet_ friction he’d secretly craved.  His pulse thrummed with life, pleasured moans escaping his lips with each pass of the other’s strangely cool tongue over his skin, like fire meeting ice.  _I shouldn’t be doing this_.  He gasped, feeling the man’s blunt teeth press down into the tender flesh at the crook of his neck, the beginnings of a bruise forming beneath the assault of those icy lips.

Ambrose pulled back, blowing gently on the purpled area with his glacial breath.  “I wonder what your _boyfriend_ would think?” he chuckled, “Watching you come apart in my arms?”

His breath hitched, neurons firing as he slowly came back to his senses.  _Oh God, Seth_.

“Or,” Dean continued, squeezing the Samoan’s package and causing him to mewl out helplessly, “what about our pal, Dr. Regal?  Like he says, I’m a _‘bad man’_.” 

Those oceanic eyes and arrogant smirk came back into view, and Roman paled, the realization of his current situation finally hitting him like a wrecking ball.

“And don’t you forget that.”

Roman’s gut twisted, a wave of nausea washing over him—he _needed_ to get away before this progressed any further.  With a shake of his head to clear his muddied thoughts, he screwed his eyes shut against those debilitating sapphires and pushed his hands out against the other man’s chest, stumbling forward over the trodden-down carpeting.  Throwing his arms out to try and regain his balance, he came to a staggering halt, eyes widened in utter confusion.  _Where did he go?  H-he can’t be **that** fast._   He stared down at his trembling hands in bewilderment, from the deep lines crisscrossing his palms, to the scattered freckles dotting the backs.  _What in the **hell**?_   

A quiet snicker sounded behind him, gradually building into a rumbling, throaty cackle. 

 _Oh, fuck_. 

On legs made of jelly, Roman guardedly turned, once again coming face-to-face with the madman.

“What _are_ you?” he inquired, heart thumping in his chest.

Ambrose smirked and stepped forward, the sound of his clomping boots echoing in the near-silence of the house and sending a chill up Roman’s spine.  “Why don’t you come see for yourself?” 

If you were to ask Roman, he’d be the first to tell you that he had _no_ idea why he did the following.  It could’ve been the need to know, or he could’ve been strung along like a powerless marionette in the lunatic’s hands, but in the end, he would probably tell you that it was _actually_ worth it—after the initial shock, of course.  With a gulp and his eyes locked with the other man’s in an unfaltering gaze, he brought his hands up and cautiously reached out toward Ambrose’s chest.  Almost immediately, they were enveloped by an eerie chill, a sensation he’d felt on his neck just a short while earlier. 

“ _Holy shit_.”

He let his eyes drop, stomach sinking as they trailed down the length of his arms to the point where they disappeared into the other man’s ragged t-shirt.  Carefully pulling back, he watched his shaking hands reappear, flexing as the warmth quickly returned to his freezing appendages.  Returning his gaze to the other man’s, he felt paralyzed, feet refusing to cooperate as he willed himself to flee for his life.  The realization suddenly dawned on him: Dean was a _ghost_. 

A voracious, predatory glint in his blazing orbs, Ambrose’s cocky smirk held steady.

“I’m your worst nightmare, _baby_.”

* * *

 

Roman awoke with a start, limbs scrambling for purchase as he felt himself tumbling to the floor.  With a heavy _thud_ , he landed hard, back groaning in pain from the sudden impact.  He reached out with trembling fingers, feeling the rough carpeting beneath his digits, and let out a relieved sigh.  Cautiously cracking his eyes open, he squinted against the harsh lamplight and took in his environment.

“Guess I fell asleep on the couch again,” he mumbled, rubbing at his sore back and gingerly rising to his feet.  He carded a hand through his sleep-tangled locks, grimacing as he hit a knot at the back of his head.  The sensation of his hair clenched in a strong grip took his breath away, the pristine image of Ambrose’s rapacious gaze swimming in front of his vision, and he shook his head, trying to bat away the startling memory.  “It was just a dream,” he told himself, “a really _fucked up_ dream.”

Snatching the browned remains of his forgotten apple off of the end-table, he staggered into the kitchen and deposited it in the trash.  As he passed the basement door, Regal’s words flooded back to him in a nausea-inducing wave: “… _Do **not** go into the basement_.”  Roman shuddered, his stomach churning uncomfortably.  _What does that even mean?  It was just a dream._   He grabbed an empty glass from the cupboard and quickly filled it at the sink, the cool water refreshing as it slipped down his parched throat.  Chancing a quick glance toward the door, he was relieved to see that it was still securely closed.

“I’m going insane,” he muttered, depositing the empty glass in the sink to wash later.  “I-I’m working too hard.  It’s stress.  A good night’s sleep should do me well.”

Stumbling down the hallway toward his bedroom, his foot struck a stray object on the floor.  Peering down, his blood ran cold—the abandoned telephone.  With a heavy gulp, he scurried into the bedroom and slammed the door shut, chest heaving as he gasped for air.

“It was a dream.  I-it was just a dream,” he told himself, scrubbing at his face with shaky palms.  “Calm the fuck down, Roman.  Dr. Regal _wasn’t_ stuck in the attic, and that Ambrose guy _isn’t_ in your house.  You’re going to brush your teeth, crawl into bed, have a fantastic night’s sleep, and then wake up refreshed and ready for your day tomorrow.” 

Throwing his shoulders back, he puffed out his chest and confidently marched into the master bathroom.  As he loaded up his toothbrush, he peered into the mirror, scoping out any blemishes or unruly hairs.  His eyes trailed down until they landed on the marred, purpled area between his neck and shoulder.  _What the **fuck**?_   He gently pressed his fingers against the angry splotch, a hiss of pain escaping his clenched teeth.  He could practically _feel_ Ambrose’s teeth biting into his flesh, those icy lips hungrily sucking against his lust-flushed skin.  Irritated, he shook his head and finished his nightly routine, pushing the remains of the dream to the back of his mind. 

Flipping the bathroom light off, he padded to his bed and threw back the duvet, more than ready for sleep’s sweet release.  He plopped down onto the mattress and slipped off his socks before sliding in and snuggling up under the downy blanket, a contented sigh escaping his lips as his head hit the pillow.

“See, it was nothing,” he yawned, eyes drooping under the sandman’s spell, “I’m gonna wake up in the morning, and all this crap will be _long_ forgotten.”

As he slowly slipped into dream-land, an all-too-familiar, gravelly voice began to drift up through the floorboards.  Eyes snapping open in horror, he followed along with the lyrics, mouth forming around the words as if on impulse.

 

_I thought that I was over you_

_But it’s true, so true_

_I love you even more_

_Than I did before_

 

“First, Johnny Cash and now, Roy Orbison?” he muttered, blinking.  “At least he has good taste…”

 

_But, darling, what can I do?_

_For you don’t love me_

_And I’ll always be crying over you_

_Crying over you_

Sleep evaded Roman that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... Dean kinda ended up being pretty perverted. I promise that this is the only non-con(ish) scene in this fic, though!


	8. Chapter 8

When Roman finally arrived at work the next morning, Alicia just _knew_ that something was wrong.  It could’ve been the lethargic pace he half-walked/half-stumbled, the drooping of his usually perky shoulders, the darkened rings of fatigue under his eyes, or the fact that he showed up ten minutes late and smelling of burnt coffee, but if asked, she would ultimately tell you that it was pure _intuition_.

“Okay, either someone beat the hell out of you in the parking lot, or you’re incredibly hungover,” Foxy observed from her perch behind the front-desk.  “And if it’s the latter, then Emma and I are _extremely insulted_ that we weren’t invited to your kegger.”

Roman cringed and rubbed at his temple, the receptionist’s voice grating against his eardrums.  “It wasn’t either of those.  Just slept for shit last night,” he grumbled, waving the girl off with his other hand as he began the trek back to his office.

Along the way, Emma stepped out of her own, closing the door behind her with a soft _click_.  “Good morning, Dr. Reigns.  How was your evening—” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, the pleasant greeting trailing off as she took in the man’s disheveled appearance.  “Holy hell, Roman!  Did someone blindside you in the parking lot?”

The doctor scowled at his coworker’s remark.  “Jesus Christ, _no_.  Like I told Alicia, I didn’t get any damn sleep last night, so let’s just try and keep the noise level at a minimum, okay?”

The Aussie pursed her lips and brushed past the man with an indignant huff.  “Fine,” she snipped, pulling at the hem of her scrub top, “Mr. Donaldson’s boy is your first appointment—an emergency he says—and if little Ricky’s anything like last time, then you’re in for a _pleasant examination_.”  With that, the nurse clomped into the waiting room, swinging her sandy mane over her shoulder for emphasis.

“This is _not_ how I wanted to start my day,” Roman grumbled, trudging into his office.  He haphazardly tossed his messenger bag on the desk, upsetting a few picture frames and a mug of pens.  “Motherfucker.”  With a roll of his eyes, he bent down and snatched one of the frames off of the floor, turning it over in his hands—his mother’s smiling face beamed back at him, the technicolor shades of her flower garden in the background tugging at his heartstrings. 

_Damn_ , he missed home. 

He traced his thumb over the grainy image, his mind slipping into warm, Floridian memories.  He could practically _hear_ the roar of the ocean, _smell_ the salty breeze, _feel_ the warmth of the sun beating down on his skin.  And his mother.  She may have been a _bit_ obnoxious over Roman finding a “nice girl” to settle down with, but she only wanted the best for her son.  _A nice girl… a nice girl… a **bad man**._   Ambrose’s voice slinked into his psyche like a viper, his eerily cool breath _still_ ghosting over the shell of his ear.  _What would your **mother** think…?  Caught up in the web of a **total stranger** …_

Emma’s muffled voice echoed down the hallway, breaking him out of his trance and alerting him that it was high-time to get his ass in gear.  Hurriedly resetting the photograph amongst the others and tossing the pens back into their holder, he grabbed his lab-coat and sped off toward the exam room, the Aussie’s warning thrown to the wayside.

When he finally reached his destination, he cast a puzzled glance toward the nurse who was leaning, arms-crossed, against the wall beside the door.  “Are you gonna come in with me?”

“I think you can handle this one yourself, Dr. Reigns,” she bluntly stated, pushing the patient’s chart at him before turning her nose up and waltzing back into the waiting room.  She paused in the archway and turned back, a smirk playing at her dark-lacquered lips.  “I’d wish you luck, but…”  And with that, she was gone, leaving Roman standing dumbfounded in the corridor.

“What the hell is _her_ problem?” He grumbled, twisting the knob and pushing the door open with a huff.  “ _I’m_ the one with a goddamn nutcase in my house.”  He flipped the chart open and thumbed through the pages, squinting as he tried to make out Emma’s angry, hurried cursive.  “Patient exhibiting the following symptoms: _Feou_ , _nalera_ , _vomdring_ …?  _Bibe woon on lowu laft lee?_   You’ve gotta be kidding me with this crap.”

An awkward throat clearing caused the doctor to glance up from the chart.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  I’m Dr. Reigns, and I’ve taken over Dr. Regal’s practi—wh-what is _that_?”

“Uh, this is Ricky.  Your patient?” Mr. Donaldson replied, confused.  He clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder, and peered down at the young boy.  “Say hello to Dr. Reigns, Ricky.”

The boy feebly waved at the doctor with one hand, the other holding down the top of a cardboard box that sat in his lap; he looked like death warmed over, to put it lightly.

Roman quirked a brow, choosing to ignore Ricky’s odd item for the time being.  “Yes, so it is.  So, erm, what seems to be troubling you, Ricky?  You look a little green around the gills, so to speak.”

“He’s been acting very strange for the past couple days,” Mr. Donaldson interjected, an air of brevity in his voice.  “Can’t hold down a meal, complains of constant stomach aches, and when I went to wake him up for school this morning, he was absolutely boiling!”

“Ah, so fever, nausea, and vomiting, I take it?” Roman nodded, scribbling out Emma’s chicken scratch and replacing it with his own, neater penmanship.  “And you say he’s been experiencing these symptoms for the past couple days?  Is there anything that could be causing this radical decline?”

“Well, he _was_ bitten by his pet the other day—”

“Ah, and you just _now_ decided to bring him in to get checked out?”

“Well, yes, but—”

Roman frowned, irritated by the man’s obvious negligence.  “Mr. Donaldson, you _do_ know that profuse vomiting can lead to dehydration, right?  Especially in someone so young.”

“Yes, I know that, but—”

“You’re very lucky that we were able to see your son today.  I see here that Ricky currently has a fever of one-hundred-point-six.  I trust that you’ve tried to bring it down, correct?”

“Yes!  I gave him an ice pack and—” A strange, chittering noise interrupted the man, causing him to turn toward his son.  “Ricky,” he started, gesturing toward the box sitting in the young boy’s lap.  “Perhaps we should show Dr. Reigns what may be the cause of your symptoms?”

Roman narrowed his eyes, suspicious.  “Mr. Donaldson, what’s in the box?”

The man grinned sheepishly.  “Well…”

 

“What’s gotten in _your_ craw?” Foxy asked as Emma trudged into the waiting room with a huff.  “You and Zack get in a fight or something?”

The Aussie rolled her eyes and perched herself on the corner of desk, crossing her arms.  “Yeah, but that’s beside the point,” she replied briskly, tapping her manicured fingers.

“Well, what is it, then?  You’ve been stompin’ around here since Roman came in.”

“It’s nothing—”

Foxy chuckled and smacked her coworker with the manila folder she was holding.  “You’re not a very good liar.  How long have we known each other?”

“Probably six years or so—”

“Exactly.  And in these past six years, I think we’ve grown close enough for me to know when you’re upset about something.  So, spill it, sweet-cheeks.”

Emma pursed her lips.  “Well, it’s Dr. Reigns…”

“Huh?  He just got here.  I mean, yeah, he’s a little late, but he said that he didn’t sleep well last night—”

“Well, he was a bit snippy with me.”

Foxy leaned back in her chair, an expression akin to “are you shitting me right now” plastered across her face.  “And he’s not allowed?  Sure, he was a grump-ass when he finally stumbled in this morning, but hell, I’ve been on fumes before.  It ain’t pleasant.”

“I guess I’m overreacting,” Emma sighed.  “Maybe on lunch we could run out and grab him a coffee?  I’m pretty sure that Seth’s place is closed on Wednesdays, or else I’d say we could surprise him with some—” She was cut off by a muffled yelp of pain resounding down the hallway.  “What was _that?_ ”

“I don’t know,” Alicia replied, eyes wide as she bolted upright, “but it didn’t sound good.”

The girls shot up from their respective seats and raced down the hall toward the examination room.  Emma quickly opened the door and stepped in, a shriek escaping her as a gray blur speedily scurried between her feet.  Foxy plastered herself against the wall, mouth a surprised “O” as the creature shot by her and out into the waiting room—various squawks of fright followed shortly thereafter.

“What in the _hell_ was that?!” the Aussie exclaimed, hand clutching at her pounding chest.  She spotted Roman by the sink, scrubbing profusely at his heavily tattooed arm.  “D-Dr. Reigns?”

The Samoan glanced up from his task, a deep scowl set into his features.  “Tell Foxy to call animal control.  Mr. Donaldson,” he started, throwing a sharp glare toward the sheepish man, “thought that it would be a good idea to bring a _wild opossum_ into the office.”

Emma reeled back, absolutely befuddled.  “A _what?!_ ”

The doctor nodded, rinsing the suds from the stinging wound.  “Yeah, it got me pretty good, too.  Thanks for the damn warning about what was in the box.”

“I thought he was just a weird kid who liked to carry a box around!”

“A box?!  Really, Emma?”

“Hey!  That’s my son you’re tal—”

“Shut up!” the bickering pair exclaimed in tandem, shooting angered glares toward Mr. Donaldson.

The man backed off, hands held up in defense.

“Go tell Alicia to call animal control, and then I need you guys to get the patients in the waiting room outside without letting that thing out of the office, okay?” Roman continued, grabbing a hospital lab-slip from the wall-holder as Emma scurried out.  “And _you_ ,” he began, turning to face the embarrassed man, “you need to get Ricky to Eastern Maine as soon as possible.  Emma will get you some Benadryl for the ride over, but it’s pertinent that you get him there as soon as you can.  I’ll go ahead and call over, that way they can have the rabies shot ready when you arrive.  You’re damn lucky that you weren’t stupid enough to let this go on any longer—”

“Now, excuse me—”

“No, _excuse me_ , Mr. Donaldson,” the doctor gritted out through clenched teeth. “Rabies can be _fatal_ if it isn’t treated as soon as the patient is bitten.  While brushing his symptoms under the rug, you’ve been threatening his _life_.”  He hastily scribbled his signature on the order before tearing it off the pad and tossing it at the man.  “Now, you guys need to get over there as soon as you can.  No stoppin’ for breakfast, no cigarette breaks, no nothin’.  And since “fluffy” here decided to use my arm as a chew toy, I’ll be right behind you.”  When the Donaldsons made no move to leave, he advanced on them, nostrils flaring.  “Now!”

“Y-yes, sir!” Mr. Donaldson yelped, grabbing Ricky by the wrist and practically dragging him out of the office.

“And don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out!” Roman called out, grabbing his blood-stained lab-coat off of the counter.  “Aw, shit,” he groaned, peering down at the crimson-splotched holes littering the sleeve, “that was _new_.”

He tossed the soiled garment back down in disgust and began to rummage around in the drawers, finally emerging with a roll of gauze and a tube of triple-antibiotic ointment—it would have to do until he could get into Bangor.  He slathered a good amount of the ointment over his wounds, hissing all the while, before quickly winding the bandage around his arm and securing it with a metal clip.  The clop of sneakers across the linoleum floor alerted him to another presence, and he glanced up, Emma’s worried face coming into view.

“Animal control’s on their way, and we were able to get everyone outside without a fuss… well, much of a fuss.  Miss Crabtree wasn’t too pleased with having to leave in the middle of _Let’s Make a Deal_ , but she’s watching it through the window.”

“Thanks, Emma,” he nodded, cringing when the various bites littering his arm began to throb.  “I need to get to the hospital as soon as possible, though, so go ahead and tell Foxy to start rescheduling appointments.  We can open the office tomorrow if need be.”

The Aussie pursed her lips as she noticed the color slowly draining from his face, the sweat beginning to bead at his temples.  “Dr. Reigns, y-you shouldn’t be driving right now.  We’ll close up the office, but _I’m_ taking you into Bangor.”  When the man made notion to reject, she stepped forward and firmly placed a hand on his shoulder.  “There’s no point in arguing.  I _am_ driving you.”

The man glanced up at her, a silent “thank you” in his eyes.

“Now, c’mon,” she started, looping her arm around his and pulling him toward the door.  “While you grab your things, I’m going to tell Foxy what’s up.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts’.  When I called over for Ricky’s injections, I told them to ready one for you as well.  So, go grab your bag, and I’ll meet you outside, okay?”

Roman nodded and padded off in the other direction as Emma scurried off to meet the receptionist and the nonplussed group of patients waiting outside.

“Foxy, I’m taking Dr. Reigns to Eastern Maine,” the Aussie said as she quickly sprinted outside, the door slamming shut behind her—she _wasn’t_ about to let that rat make a meal out of her.  “He mentioned opening the office tomorrow, but since I’m second-in-command when he’s not able to make decisions on his own, I’m saying ‘no’ to that, alright?”

The receptionist looked up with a nod, her pen never leaving the notebook—she was always one step ahead.  “Okay, gotcha… wait, what about _me?_   I wanna go to Bangor!”

Emma shook her head.  “We need you to stay here and wait for animal control, okay?  Also, you need to call and reschedule our afternoon appointments, so you’ve got quite a bit of work left.”

“Fine,” Foxy pouted, “but you guys owe me one!  Brie left for that _‘spiritual retreat’_ with Daniel and Nikki, so I guess I’ll just go home and bang my head against the wall after I’m done here.”

“You have fun with that.”

“Rude.”

“Were you able to get everyone rescheduled without any problem?” the nurse questioned, glancing over to where Miss Crabtree stood plastered against the window.

Alicia nodded and plopped down on the grass, grimacing as the morning dew began to soak through her pants.  “Yeah, no problems.  They were all pretty understanding when I told them that Dr. Reigns was bitten by a wild opossum and was probably dying—”

“You what?!”

“I’m kidding, geez!”

“You little shit—”

The bell over the door chimed as Roman finally emerged from the office, a pained grimace twisting his otherwise handsome features.  “You ready to go?”

Emma gave the man a thumbs-up before glancing back down at the receptionist, eyebrow quirked.  “I’m sorry that you can’t come along, but you _do_ understand, right?”

“Yeah,” Foxy sighed, twiddling a piece of grass between her fingers, “you guys try not to kill each other on the way over, and I’ll stay here and keep Miss Crabtree company.  She’s pretty dead-set on seeing the rest of the show.”

“I’ll bring you a gift, okay?” the nurse threw over her shoulder as she helped Roman down the path to the parking lot.

“You’d better!”

               

Once the pair were finally settled in Emma’s car—much to Roman’s chagrin as the cramped passenger seat was _not_ designed for those of his stature—they sped off, hitting I-95 south to take them down and into the city.

“You mind if I turn on some music?” Emma questioned, chancing a glass at her coworker—she noted the way his jaw was working, his teeth clenched from the throbbing ache in his arm.  “I-it might help take your mind off of your arm?”

The doctor nodded and leaned his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes in an attempt to relax.  Thankfully, Emma seemed to be a pretty calm driver.

Taking his nod as a “yes,” she pushed the power button for the radio, and the cabin soon became enveloped by the soothing instrumentals of a classic ballad.  Bobbing her head along to the emotional tune, she began to murmur the lyrics, fingers tapping a gentle beat against the steering wheel.  “ _I was all right for a while, I could smile for a while….”_

Roman slowly opened his eyes, his blood running cold.

_“…but I saw you last night, you held my hand so tight as you stopped to say ‘Hello’—”_

“E-Emma…”

“ _Aw, you wished me well, you couldn’t tell—_ ”

“Emma, could you—”

“ _That I’d been crying over you, crying over you—_ Oh!  I’m sorry, do you not like this song? _”_

Roman fell back into his seat, the radio safely turned to a different station.  He shook his head.  “No, I-I just heard it last night—”

“Oh?  Can you not listen to the same song twice in the same day or something?  That’s kind of odd.  Not judging, honestly, but you probably wouldn’t enjoy going out to the pub with Foxy and me.  I can’t even count how many times she played ‘Uptown Funk’ when it came out,” she replied, the memory of an all-too-drunken Alicia and her frantic “dancing” to the pop hit coming back to her with a shudder. 

Their conversation came to a lull as Pat Benatar’s “Heartbreaker” pumped through the speakers, seeming to propel their journey down the freeway.

“Oh, I forgot!” Emma exclaimed after a moment, awkwardly maneuvering to stretch an arm out over Roman’s cramped legs and rifle around in the glovebox, her eyes still on the road.  She emerged with a bottle of Benadryl and tossed it into the man’s lap before returning to her previous position—much to the doctor’s relief.  “I know I don’t have to tell you, but take a couple of those.  You look pretty sickly already, and I don’t feel like cleaning vomit off of the carpeting, yeah?”

The man rolled his eyes but complied, dry-swallowing a few of the tablets with a cringe of distaste.

“So,” the nurse began, her lips pursed, “I’m sorry I got snippy with you this morning.”

Roman glanced over, noting the way her brows were scrunched in contemplation.  “It’s fine, honestly.  I should apologize as well.  Didn’t get any sleep last night—”

“Why’s that?  Did you finally decide to finish unpacking?”

“No,” he replied, playing with the ends of the dressing covering his arm, “I mean, yeah, I probably _should_ get around to that, but I was just thinking.”

“Ah, your own mind can be your worst enemy sometimes.  Anything you want to talk about?”

The man shook his head, staring out the window at the other vehicles they passed.  “Not really anything I _can_ talk about.”

“Mmm,” the nurse nodded, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.  “Well, if you _do_ need someone to talk to, you can always come to me and Foxy.  _Well_ , I don’t really know about Foxy.  She can be a bit overbearing at times.  Kind of like a mother-hen, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Roman murmured, half in a daze as the Benadryl began to work its magic.  He looked back over at his friend, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.  “Thanks, Emma.”

The nurse flashed him a warm grin of her own.  “No problem.  Now, why don’t you try and take a nap?  I’ll go ahead and turn down the music, okay?  We still have about forty minutes or so until we get there.”

Roman nodded and leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes against the blurry landscape that passed by the window.  “Wake me up when we get there?”

“Of course.  Sleep tight, Dr. Reigns.”

The man’s breathing soon evened-out, his chest steadily rising and falling as he passed into sleep.  Emma chanced another quick peek at her friend, stomach twisting in worry as memories of Dr. Regal’s odd, snippish behavior itched at the back of her mind.  She shook off the disconcerting thoughts and returned focus to the highway, willing time to move faster.

* * *

 

“Dr. Reigns!”

Emma and Roman glanced up, trying to find the source of the concerned voice in the busy corridor.  A woman soon scurried up to the pair, her pink-tinged ponytail bouncing as she came to a sudden halt.

“Hey, Nattie,” Roman greeted the blonde, a slight slur to his words—the Benadryl had _definitely_ done its job.  “This is Emma.  She, uh, brought me here.”

Nattie threw a smile at the Aussie, extending her hand in greeting.  “We spoke on the phone, right?  I’m Natalya, but everyone calls me Nattie.  Just a nickname that stuck around.”

“It’s nice to meet you.  Well, perhaps under better circumstances,” the nurse shrugged, taking the lab-tech’s hand and giving it a gentle shake.  “Do you have the injection ready?”

“Yep!  Mr. Donaldson’s son just received his.  He’s pretty damn lucky that you guys were able to catch it.  We’re keeping Ricky overnight for observation, but I’m sure he’ll be just fine once we get some fluids in him.”  She returned her attention to Roman and hooked her arm around his undamaged one in an escort.  “Let’s get going, okay?  The lab staff’s ready for you.”

The trio hobbled down the hallway, half-dragging the Samoan since the medication had made him _quite_ sluggish.

“Oh, c’mon, you big oaf,” Emma huffed, relieved when Natalya began to steer them left and into the laboratory.  She helped him into one of the plastic seats as the lab-tech darted into the back to grab the syringe and vial.  “Roman, I’m gonna need you to remove your shirt, okay?  She can’t stick you through your clothing.”

The man nodded languidly, reaching up to pluck open the buttons on his dress shirt.  As he removed the material, Emma’s eyes widened in surprise.  She threw a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle a giggle.  “Oh my _God_.”

Roman scrunched his brows in confusion.  “What issit?” he slurred, “you didn’ know I had a t-tattoo?”

A loud “ooh!” escaped Nattie’s lips as she returned, her chocolate orbs just as wide as Emma’s.  “Did someone have a good time last night?”

“What’re you guys talkin’ ‘bout?”

Emma chuckled, leaning down to inspect the mouth-sized patch of purple marring his skin.  “I see that you and Seth had no problems catching up.”  She poked at the bruise, guffawing at the slight hiss of pain it invoked from the man.  “Oh my God, it isn’t makeup!  You dirty dog, you.”

Roman scowled, batting at the woman’s offending appendage.  “It wasn’ _Seth,”_ he slurred, “It was _Dean_.”

“Who’s Dean?” Natalya questioned, throwing a puzzled glance toward the Aussie.

“I don’t know.”

“He’ssa man in my house,” the doctor continued, head bobbing around as he tried to stay alert.  “A really _sexy_ man in my house.  Too bad he’ssa _ghost_.”

The girls turned to each other, matching expressions of bewilderment plastered across their faces.  Having had enough of the man’s drugged antics, Nattie shook her head and rounded the seat, quickly opening an alcohol wipe and getting down to business.

“Hey, be careful wissat,” Roman warned, eyes narrowing.  “Don’t rub my tat off.  It was ex-es- _espensive_.”

“No worries,” the tech smirked.  Before he could even cringe, she’d already injected the vaccine and placed a sparkly, purple bandage over the site.  “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

The doctor shook his head, his eyelids drooping from fatigue.

“Emma, I’m going to pack-up the rest of his treatment for you guys, okay?  I trust that once the Benadryl wears off, he’ll be able to inject himself with no problem.”

“Sure,” the nurse nodded as Nattie scurried off to box-up the extra vials and syringes.  Once the lab-tech was out of sight, she turned to her boss, a question forming on her tongue.  Upon seeing his slumbering form, though, she let it fall to the wayside, deciding instead to open the can of worms once he was back to his usual self.

_Who was **Dean**?_  

She couldn’t wait to drop _that_ bomb on Foxy.


	9. Chapter 9

“Okay, in we go.  No, not _that_ way….”

Emma was trying—she really _was_ —but her patience was perhaps, _maybe_ running a bit _thin_.  What with having to shut down the office for the day in order to drag a certain, drowsy Samoan around for the next several hours, she was more than ready to go home, throw off her bra, and enjoy a much-deserved glass—scratch that— _bottle_ of wine.  Honestly, she hadn’t minded taking care of Roman—especially since her job sort of depended on his continued existence—but she wasn’t quite prepared for the man’s drugged-up antics.  From the rousing rendition of Frankie Valli’s “Sherry” (she _still_ didn’t know how he’d managed to get his voice that high), to his downright childish refusal to go home unless they’d stopped for ice cream first (Superman for Roman, Moose Tracks for Emma), the nurse was more than ready to just toss the man over the doorstep of his home and leave him to his own devices.  Her conscience, though (that god-awful thing), steered her otherwise, thus leading to trying (and failing) to navigate a two-hundred-sixty-five pound Samoan through the den and down the hallway toward his bedroom.

And if she noticed any strange shadows playing on the walls, then it surely could have been chalked up to fatigue.

 _Surely_.

“Alright, Roman.  Time to get ready for bed.  Wait—no, you aren’t sleeping in _those_.”

Her jaw working in irritation, she watched helplessly as the man flopped onto his bed, the mound of pillows at the head springing into the air and landing half-strung across the floor.

“ _Dr. Reigns_ ,” she started, a hint of gritted impatience in her usually steady voice, “I need you to change so we can get you to bed, okay?”

The man lazily flicked his wrist at her, as if to say “maybe later.”

She huffed out a deep sigh, fists clenched by her sides in an attempt at keeping her cool.

“Fine!  Sleep in your dress clothes.  Don’t blame me when you wake up a sweaty mess, though.”

Roman groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes to shield them from the glowing bedside lamp.  “ _Fiiiine_ ,” he whined, flicking his other hand in the direction of the closet.  “Th-there’s sweats in the laundry basket.”

The Aussie rolled her eyes and padded toward the hamper, a grimace twisting her mouth as she spotted a pair of red boxers haphazardly slung on top of the heap like a not-so-tasty cherry.  “I’m demanding a raise.”

With another sigh, she hurriedly began her mission, plopping piles of dirty clothing on the closet floor, one after another.  “Jesus, do you _ever_ do laundry?” she snarked over her shoulder, cringing at the rather crunchy texture of one of the man’s gym socks.  “Oh my God, I need a hazmat suit.”  She finally found a pair of fleecy sweats toward the bottom of the basket and tossed them at the man, ordering him to get changed or face her wraith (whatever that may have been).

Thankfully, he complied with minor grumbling.

Stooping down, Emma began her nasty mission of refilling the hamper, each sock and pair of briefs twisting her face into a disgusted grimace.  “I’m thinking an extra twenty an hour,” she mumbled, hurriedly throwing a pair of sweat-scented gym shorts into the basket.  “That should be no problem, really.  I mean, I _have_ been there for ten years… Hm?  What’s this?”  Her fingers skimmed over something cool and metallic—the smooth, rounded top of a skeleton key.  She plucked the key up off of the floor and examined it, her eyes glinting in curiosity as she surveyed the tarnished brass.  Shrugging, she rose to her feet and returned to the bedside, mentally thanking the heavens as she saw that he had _indeed_ changed and was now snuggled up under his duvet.  With a _clink_ , she set the odd key on the nightstand and reached out to smooth Roman’s hair back off of his forehead.

“I’ll be taking my leave now, Dr. Reigns.  Is there anything else you need before I go?”

The man slowly shook his head, sinking deeper into the plush mattress, until the realization hit him.  He sat up in a bolt.  _Seth_.

“Oh, shit,” he groaned, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose.  “E-Emma, I forgot about Seth.”

“Hm?  What about him?”

Roman let out a devastated sigh.  “I was supposed to go to his house for dinner this evening.  H-he probably thinks I stood him up.  Fuck.  Uh, d-do you think you could call him for me?  Let him know what happened.”

“Poor thing,” the nurse frowned, “of course, this would happen today… sure, I’ll call him.  Do you have his number handy?”

“I-it’s on the dresser,” he replied, motioning toward the opposite side of the room.  “Just let him know how sorry I am.  Man, I feel like the fucking scum of the earth.”

Emma pursed her lips.  “Now, Roman, I’m sure Seth will understand.  It’s not like you _wanted_ to get bitten by that rat.”

“True,” the doctor mumbled, his eyelids fluttering in an attempt at batting away his drowsiness.

“Now, get some sleep, okay?  I promise to call him as soon as possible.”

Roman nodded before letting his head settle back against the pillows, sleep quickly invading his senses.

Satisfied that the man had finally drifted off, Emma grabbed the lone slip of paper off of the dresser and quickly punched Seth’s number into her phone.  Padding out of the room, she let the door close behind her as she waited for the restauranteur to pick up.  “Damn, it’s cold in here,” she muttered, rubbing at her goose-bumped arms.  Glancing up at the thermostat in the hall, she clucked her tongue.  “Fifty degrees?  He’s gonna give himself a damn cold.” 

Reaching up, she turned the dial to a more comfortable sixty-eight, not noticing the frigid man standing behind her.

“C’mon,” the irritated nurse urged as she continued down the hall and toward the den.  “Oh my God, just pick up the damn pho—”

“Roman?”

Emma was surprised by the sudden greeting.  “Uh, uh, n-no, this is Emma.  I work with Dr. Reigns…” she stuttered, tongue-tied.

“Oh,” Seth murmured, crestfallen.  “Wait, is something wrong?”

“Well, ah, actually, Roman asked me to call you—”

“D-did something happen to him?”

The nurse rolled her eyes.  _Could he **please** stop interrupting me?_   “No.  Well, technically, yes?”

“ _Yes_?  What is it?  I was expecting him over an hour ago—”

“Dr. Reigns had a bit of an… _accident_ at the office today—”

“Acciden—”

“ _Yes_ ,” she interrupted, frustrated.  “We had a patient who decided that it would be a good idea to bring a rabid animal into the clinic.  Let’s just say that Roman became somewhat of a chew-toy for the little rat—”

Seth gasped on the other end of the line, eyes bugging out of his skull.  “Holy shit!  Is he okay?”

“He’ll survive,” she shrugged, entering the den and surveying the piles of unpacked boxes littered around the room.  “I think the mix of the initial shock and the Benadryl I gave him was a bit too much, though.  Poor guy’s finally conked out.  He should be good as new by morning, though.”  Her eyes caught the ornate mirror hanging above the mantle, and she cocked her head, curious.  A strange, humanoid shadow played on the wall behind her, its arms raised and hands splayed as if reaching out to grab at her.  She gulped heavily, heart beginning to thrum in her chest.  _What in the **world**?_   The shadowy visage loomed over her, its claw-like hands steadily approaching her neck.  She was frozen to the spot, an icy chill running up her spine.  Her eyes were glued to the mirror, not daring to look away from the horrifying image, until, at once, she choked, the unyielding pressure of too-strong hands wrapped around her neck and stealing the breath from her lungs reducing her to a trembling mess.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Seth nodded, completely unaware of the happenings on the other end of the receiver.  “When he didn’t call, I honestly got a bit worried.  I thought maybe I came on too strong, y’know?  I mean, _he_ kissed _me_ , but you know how things can turn in the blink of an eye.  Just figured he was regretting yesterday, is all.  But like I said, I’m glad that he’s okay.  Well, er, for the most part.”

The nurse grunted out a strangled affirmation, swiftly bringing a hand up to clutch at her throat.  Instead of the thick digits she’d assumed were wrapped around the strained column, she however found her own flesh, eerily chilled and incredibly stiffened.  Roman’s medicated words from earlier flashed through her mind— _he’ssa_ _man in my house_.  “Oh shit,” she whispered to herself—well, as much as she could choke out in her current state.  _Too bad he’ssa **ghost**_.

A chilling breath ghosted over the shell of her ear, the hairs on the back of her neck standing straight up as the strangling grasp seemed to finally loosen its hold.

“I remember you, Emma,” a deep, gravelly voice whispered into her ear, the words utterly dripping with malice.  “Dr. Regal’s pet.”  It barked out a laugh, clear and unfeeling.  “The angel of death.”

The nurse shook like a leaf in a windstorm, the vaguely familiar voice a haunting memory.  _Where_ did she hear that voice before, though?

“I think it’s time for you to leave,” it stated bluntly, laced with a smirk.

In a flurry, the front door banged open, and she was shoved out and into the evening air, her sneakers stumbling over the threshold.  She threw a hand out to brace herself, the other still clutching desperately to the cell phone pressed against her ear. 

Seth’s rambling was just white noise in the background against her gasping breaths.

On legs of spaghetti, she slowly turned back toward the open doorway, eyebrows scrunched in bewilderment as she noticed that there didn’t seem to be anyone there.  Taking a hesitant step forward, she nearly passed out as the door slammed shut with a boisterous _bang!_.

“Holy fuck,” she muttered, clutching at her pounding chest.

“So, Roman’s gonna be fine then?  Emma?  Hey, are you still there?”

The nurse shook her head, trying to gather her wits about her as she remembered that Seth was still on the other end.  “Y-yeah,” she replied, a bit breathless, “I-I hope so, at least.”

* * *

 

If there was anything Roman was ever grateful for, it probably would’ve been having Thursdays off.  Actually, when the girls first met him, they’d pointedly asked the new physician if he was planning on keeping Regal’s schedule.  Unending ramblings about “free coffee day” at the Continental and “Zack’s mother’s nephew’s daughter’s” upcoming dance recitals and soccer games nearly caused him a panic-attack until he’d finally promised the chatty duo that their Thursdays would, _indeed_ , not be taken from them. 

Roman was graciously offered the opportunity for free cappuccino and to watch a rousing, third-grade rendition of _Swan Lake_.

He graciously took a rain-check.  

Upon waking and finding that his thermostat was, of course, set back on fifty and that his fruit bowl had been arranged in a rather obscene manner (the fading bruise at his neck throbbed as a stark reminder), he’d decided that the best way to spend his day would be spending it _far_ away from his house.

The unpacking be damned.

Donning a sweatshirt and gym shorts, he ventured out into the small township, a slight spring in his step as he strolled down the cobblestone street.  The early autumn air was crisp and cool, the sun shining brightly behind the foliage-dotted hills, and the lively sounds of the town’s citizens beginning their days brought a smile to his face.  Sure, Westerly Falls was pretty much the opposite of Pensacola, but with each step, he found himself falling deeper and deeper in love with it.

Turning the corner onto Pine, he drank in the sights and sounds of downtown Westerly.  Much like downtown Pensacola, shops and restaurants lined the streets, townsfolk flitting from one storefront to another.  His eyes caught the vibrant displays in each window—bouquets of lilies and asters at the florist, trays teeming with freshly baked breads and pastries at the bakery, home-sewn stuffed animals and wooden dump trucks at the toy store.  He was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of love and care that the town’s citizens put into their crafts, a bit of pride welling up in his chest as he noticed the distinct lack of franchises and chain-stores.

As he admired the carefully pruned shrubbery spaced out along the sidewalk, he failed to notice the woman in front of him until they’d both fallen to the ground in a cacophony of limbs and paper fliers.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Roman exclaimed as he hurried to his feet and reached down to offer the girl a hand-up.

The woman brushed her curly mane back out of her face and accepted the doctor’s offer, rising to her _much smaller_ five-foot-two.  She gazed up at the larger man, a pink blush creeping over her cheeks.  “Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” she smiled, smoothing out the front of her sundress.  “I should’ve been paying more attention while I was setting everything up.  D-definitely my fault here, uhm—”

“Roman,” the Samoan greeted, shaking the tiny woman’s hand.

“Jojo,” she answered, bending down to retrieve the scattered fliers.

Roman glanced at one of the papers, a tug at his heartstrings.  “Oh, there’s going to be a youth center opening?”

Jojo nodded, placing the stack of fliers on the table behind her.  “Yep!  Pastor Michaels figured that kids need a place to go after school, especially since a lot of the people who live here work over in Bangor.  So, instead of going home to sit around and be bored while they wait for their parents to get home, they can come here and socialize and have a snack or something.  We’re even going to offer homework help and all that.”

“That sounds great,” he replied, mind going in quite the opposite direction.  _Wish they had something like that for adults who need to get away from perverted ghosts…_

“Roman?”

The man shook his head, returning his attention to the younger woman.  “Ah, sorry.  My mind ran away from me for a minute.  What was it again?”

“Oh, it’s okay!  I was just going to ask if you’d be willing to make a donation?  I-it’s fine if you’d rather not, but the center’s primarily going to be running on donations from townsfolk—”

“Yeah, definitely, but I, uh, I seemed to have forgotten my wallet when I left the house…” he replied, a bit sheepish as he showed the girl his empty pockets.  “Looks like I just have my house key on me.”

Jojo waved the man off.  “No, that’s fine!  I can always take a rain-check,” she winked.  “You do seem a bit distracted, though.  Is something the matter?  Whenever I’m having trouble, I always go to Pastor Michaels.  He has some pretty good advice, now and then.”

Well, he _was_ having a bit of trouble, what with the horny ghost living in his basement and singing him lullabies.  Wait, ghost… pastor… “Does Pastor Michaels do exorcisms?”

The girl paused, befuddlement plastered across her soft features.  “E-exorcisms?” she questioned, taken aback by the man’s odd question.

“Yeah!”

“Well, er, I’m not really _sure_.  Is that actually a thing that pastors do?  I’ve only ever heard of it in horror movies.  Maybe Catholic priests?”

“Is there a Catholic church in town?”

“Erm, no.  The closest one is in Bangor.  We’re non-denominational, if that makes a difference?”

Roman pursed his lips, thoughtful.  “I guess that’ll have to do.  Where’s it located?”

The girl quirked a brow and took a step back.  “Uh, two blocks north,” she replied, pointing toward the intersection just up ahead.  “There’s a sign out front.  The Cornerstone Church…”

“Thanks for your help, Jojo!” Roman nodded excitedly, speeding off toward the chapel.  He turned mid-stride, throwing up a hand in farewell.  “I promise that I’ll send you guys a donation!”

“What a strange guy,” Jojo shrugged, turning back to retrieve her stack of fliers.  “Can’t wait to tell Foxy about this one.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Any comments are greatly appreciated. Let me know what you think!  
> xoxoCele


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